Rebuilding
by lionsandwolves
Summary: *Spoilers for S3 of The Musketeers* Constance, D'Artagnan, and the Musketeers have rebuilt themselves after the dramatic events that put the four friends on their different paths, but Constance and D'Artagnan have their own new beginnings to deal with. (I wasn't happy with the S3 ending so I thought I'd carry on. This is my first attempt at writing - please be nice!) *COMPLETE!*
1. Chapter 1

The warm summer breeze was playing with Constance's hair as she walked through the newly restored garrison that morning. The old wooden structure that had been destroyed by Marchieu's bomb had been completely replaced by a sturdier, more practical home for the Musketeer's regiment, and had been funded by the Crown using the money saved from disbanding the Red Guard. Whenever that thought came to her Constance couldn't help but smile at the irony.

Today, however, she wasn't smiling. Instead her anxiety and stress caused a furrow in her brow and she chewed her bottom lip as she walked across the yard towards D'Artagnan's office.

"Madame D'Artagnan!" a voice called from behind her. She turned to see the newest cadet, Durand, running towards her. He slipped to a halt on the gravel and flushed red, which made Constance grin. Durand was barely older than a boy and he seemed to be terrified of Constance for no other reason than she was the only woman he'd ever talked to besides his mother. However, he was sweet enough and desperate to become a Musketeer.

"What is it, Durand?"

"The Lourve, Madame, you've been summoned," he held out a letter with the Queen's seal on it.

"Thank you," Constance said, taking it. She didn't open it right away as she knew what it would say; instead she continued to D'Artagnan's office, shut the door behind her, sank into the chair behind the desk and put her head in her hands.

How was she supposed to tell him? She knew what would happen if she did, and it was that she was dreading. He'd be thrilled, but Constance couldn't yet bring herself to feel happy about this. It was too uncertain, too different, and too scary. This wasn't something that felt right at this moment in time, not with the country being at war and Paris barely avoiding riots. Granted, since Queen Anne had become Regent things had been better; there was enough food now, and veterans were receiving their pensions, but it was far from perfect. Bringing a child into this world terrified her.

The thought of the Queen reminded her she had somewhere to be. Constance rose from behind D'Artagnan's chair and left the office.

"Ready me a horse," she requested of one of the cadets in the yard as she descended the steps. As she reached the bottom she looked up to see D'Artagnan returning from a morning ride out with some of the other Musketeers. He'd left her a note for when she woke up explaining that they had to oversee a gift from a foreign King entering the city and escort it to the Lourve. They'd left so early he hadn't disturbed her.

Seeing her husband on his horse, wearing his armour still made Constance's heart flutter slightly, even after being married nearly six years – even though he was absent for four of them- but today the usual joy of seeing him was tinged with a nervousness and apprehension. D'Artagnan dismounted and tied up his horse before turning to her and smiling at her.

"Good morning," he said, warmly. Constance pushed his long hair back and returned the smile, but when he went to wrap his arms around her in an embrace she stepped back.

"What is it? Did I do something wrong?" A concerned look crossed D'Artagnan's face as he surveyed her.

Constance cleared her throat and moved around him, "No, I'm fine. Thank you," she added as she took the reins of her horse from the cadet that had saddled him.

"Where are you going?" D'Artagnan asked, troubled.

"I'm wanted at the Louvre," she said, shortly as she mounted and turned her horse towards the gates of the garrison.

"Constance, what-"

"I'll see you later today." Constance kicked her horse into a trot and left the yard into the city.

Part of her felt very guilty for how she had just behaved. She didn't mean to upset D'Artagnan, nor make him worry, but she couldn't lie to him. He could read her so easily and if she stayed she knew he'd get it out of her straight away and she wasn't ready to tell him just yet. Plus she still needed time to work out just how she felt about the situation. She still didn't know what to do or what to think, so instead she rode the familiar streets of Paris to the Palace.

The streets were as busy as usual, with people crowding the markets and children playing in the squares. The sight made Constance's heart ache with longing and confliction, so she continued on. By the time she was entering the Palace gates the sun was at its peak signalling noon. Constance nodded to the guards at the doors and they let her pass without question due to the regularity of her visits to see the Queen. Despite this she still had an armed escort leading the way to the Anne's chambers. However, when they reached the door to Anne's rooms she entered alone.

The Queen's rooms were light and airy, this particular reception room being a powder blue with golden accents. In the far corner sat Anne closing a book she had been reading.

"Constance, it's good to see you," she said as she stood and walked over with a gracious smile and open arms.

"Your Majesty," Constance curtseyed. "Anne." she corrected herself with a smile.

"Better," Anne dismissed her servants and guards in the room with a look, hugged Constance and took both her hands, bringing her to sit with her on the sofa. "I do hope you don't mind me calling for you like that. While I feel discourteous in doing so it is the most effective way for me to reach you. As much as I would like to I can't simply drop by to see you on my own."

"I don't mind, the ride was welcome today. Where is the King today?" Constance asked, looking around the room.

"Oh, he's having his lessons this morning, begrudgingly." Anne shook her head, laughing softly, "That boy will play with swords all day but it takes an age to convince him to sit down with his tutor."

"Well, a king must know how to handle a sword. Who is training him?" There was a strong possibility Constance knew him through D'Artagnan or the various people that visited the garrison.

Anne shifted in discomfort and looked embarrassed, "It's Aramis."

"Oh. Well that's reasonable; he is one of the best swordsmen in France."

"Exactly my thinking," Anne said. Both women laughed. "So how are things at the new garrison? Is D'Artagnan enjoying being Captain of the Musketeers?"

Constance nodded, "It's perfect, thank you again. D'Artagnan, although he is away more and working hard, is delighted with his new position." Her voice drifted off and she looked down at her hands in her lap. The summons from the Queen, though short notice, had given her the perfect opportunity to voice her concerns to someone who had been through what she was facing, even if it had been in slightly more privileged conditions.

"Is something wrong?" Anne asked, hesitant. Constance took a deep breath and realised there were tears welling up in her eyes. She quickly brushed them away and steadied herself.

"Constance, please tell me what is troubling you," said Anne.

Constance looked up and saw Anne's face, full of compassion and friendship and decided to trust her with her worries.

"It's trivial really," she said with a small laugh, and then her words began to spill out. "I can't decide how to tell D'Artagnan, not because I'm scared of the reaction – I know what his reaction will be – but because I don't feel the same, what with the situation we're in and that Paris is in. I could lose him any day, any time he goes out on a mission, and I don't know that I could do it on my own and-"

"Constance," Anne interrupted, placing her hands on her shoulders. "Calm down." Constance nodded and took several calming breaths until she had returned to her normal state. Anne gauged Constance and waited for a while before speaking.

"Are you pregnant?" She asked, slowly. Constance nodded again and Anne pulled her in for a hug. "Oh, Constance, please don't panic yourself over this. You have nothing to fear."

Before she could answer the door opening caused her to glance up. Aramis entered the room then stalled, realising he was interrupting.

"Apologies, Your Majesty, Constance. I wasn't aware anyone was in here" he said with a bow. He turned to leave, but Anne spoke.

"No need to go, Aramis," she walked over and closed the door behind him before he could leave. "You might be able to be of help." Anne brought him over to where Constance was sitting, despite her protestations.

"Anne, I -"

"Constance, everyone will know soon enough. Constance and D'Artagnan are having a baby" she added to Aramis, who immediately looked delighted.

"Congratulations!" he exclaimed, kissing Constance on the cheek. She smiled weakly in return. "You don't look too excited though?"

"Constance is concerned that the current climate isn't the best time to bring a child into the world." Constance threw Anne a scowl when she said this, but Anne merely shrugged. Aramis moved to sit next to Constance on the sofa and placed a hand on hers.

"You and D'Artagnan are wonderful people, and I'm convinced that you will be excellent parents also," he said in a measured, comforting voice. "As for worrying about the uncertainty of the future, it will always be uncertain and there will always be things that could go wrong, but that is exactly why having a child is the right thing to do. Bring some good into the world and help to shape the future to be better than today."

Aramis had a wonderful talent to calm and reason with people who were distressed. Constance squeezed his hand in thanks and sighed in resignation.

"You speak sense as always, Aramis," Constance said, wryly. She looked up to Anne. "I still don't know how to tell him though."

"D'Artagnan doesn't know?" Aramis exclaimed, with a hit of accusation in his voice. Constance flushed and looked away, embarrassed, but Anne defended her.

"You forget yourself, Aramis," she said, cautioning him. He stood and bowed apologetically.

"You're right, Your Majesty. Again, I am sorry, Constance." Constance waved away the need for his apology.

"Aramis, please bring D'Artagnan to the Louvre." Anne requested, then, noticing Constance chewing on her bottom lip in worry, added "There's no use putting it off any longer." Aramis bowed and took his leave without another word. Even though Constance knew about his and Anne's relationship they were still cautious, and never gave any hint that they were together when they were around others. In public their relationship was no different than that of a Queen Regent and one of her ministers.

Anne returned to her seat beside Constance. "I want you to know that you are a dear friend, and one of my closest advisors, even if you have no official title to make you so. I want to reassure you that you will have access to all the royal doctors and the best medical advice there is, paid for by the crown. Please don't protest," she said, as Constance had shaken her head and began to speak. "Please don't try and be noble and turn down my offer. Let me do this for my friend. I won't take no for an answer."

She saw no point in arguing by this stage, so Constance simply smiled appreciatively.

"Thank you, it's very kind of you." She said, accepting the offer.

Constance waited for D'Artagnan to arrive in a different room to the one in which she had met with the Queen. This one was in a different area of the Louvre and it was smaller and much more intimate. She also waited alone. Anne had left her to continue with her duties, something which Constance was quietly grateful. She didn't want to have this conversation with D'Artagnan in front of an audience.

She couldn't sit. Instead she paced the room, her hands on her stomach. She was pregnant – it had been confirmed by the doctor she had seen – yet she felt no different. There was no other presence she could detect that she had always expected, there was no bump that she could feel, and the only indicator had been the absence of her periods and vomiting in the mornings. Frankly she was surprised she'd managed to hide these things from D'Artagnan, but she couldn't do it any longer.

A soft knock at the door brought her out of her day dreaming and she spun round to see D'Artagnan entering. With all the worry she had been putting on herself Constance couldn't help but smile briefly when she saw him. He walked straight over to her with a quizzical look.

"Aramis said I had to come to the palace?" he said with raised eyebrows. "Do you have any idea what this is about?"

She said nothing; instead she slid her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.

"Constance, please," he said, affectionately, holding her, "What is it? What do you know?"

"It's me, I needed to talk to you." She said in a small voice. "The Queen said I could use this room."

D'Artagnan waited patiently, one of his hands stroking her hair. Though he was quiet Constance felt his heart beat faster with nervousness, waiting for her to explain. Constance took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm pregnant." She said in a barely audible whisper.

She held her breath waiting for his joy, his elation, but that wasn't what she got. In its place she felt D'Artagnan's chest vibrate with what could only be laughter. Constance pulled away in disbelief to stare at him.

"Why are you laughing?" She demanded, confused. He laughed again, a heartfelt, yet soft sound and took both her hands and kissed them.

"Because I'm happy," He said with a smile, and then he took in her expression. "Why aren't you?"

"I knew this would happen, I knew you'd be elated." She pulled her hands out of his and tried to turn away, but he caught her arm. His delight was now replaced with trepidation.

"Explain to me then, why…?" Then it dawned on him and his expression became kind and soft. "Is what's worrying you the same thing as when you refused to leave Bonacieux? That if something were to happen to me you'd have nothing?"

"Yes," Constance said, hesitantly. D'Artagnan cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead.

"Things could not be more different now, Constance," he murmured. "You're my wife now, you'd get my money and my pension, and do you really believe that you'd be abandoned? You wouldn't be alone. Aramis wouldn't allow it, neither would the Queen. This isn't like last time."

Constance shook he head and smiled. "You're right, I'm just being silly," she said. But still Constance couldn't be as happy as D'Artagnan wished her to be, something that was plain for him to see.

"You're still worried." He placed his fingers under her chin. "Please talk to me." Constance shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how to phrase her next words.

"I'm scared." She said, simply.

"Of what?" D'Artagnan asked. She rolled her eyes at him and laughed - something he'd been waiting to hear ever since this morning. Then it occurred to him. "Oh! Well, yes, I suppose that is scary, but there's doctors and -"

"And Anne offered her own medical professionals." Constance interjected.

"Then there you go. You'll be in the best hands." D'Artagnan hugged her again. "Can we be excited yet?" he asked sarcastically. Constance shoved his chest playfully, but then pulled herself up to kiss him.

"Yes, I suppose we can," She said, beaming, and D'Artagnan lifted her and spun her round. He put her down then stepped away, looking slightly nauseous.

"Are you okay?" Constance asked, warily. D'Artagnan had slumped into one of the chairs in the room and had a hand to his face.

"D'Artagnan?" She knelt next to him and tried to get his attention. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, I just," he took a deep breath and then let out a disbelieving laugh. "I can't believe I'm going to be a father."

Constance stood with a smile, settled herself on his knee and he wrapped his arms around her. The pair sat in a contented silence for a time before D'Artagnan spoke.

"We're going to be fine." He said.

"Yes, we will be." Constance replied. He kissed her hair and they sat together for a while longer, discussing how amazing their life was going to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Only very rarely did Constance get to lie in bed on a morning with her husband next to her. Normally she woke to find him already up, either putting new cadets through their paces, or saving France on some new, daring mission. At least, that is how she liked to imagine it.

This particular morning, however, she found herself curled up next to him with her long, curly hair sprawled across his chest and face, tickling his nose. Lazily, he picked up the offending strand and moved it out of the way.

"You need to start sleeping with your hair plaited," he said, huskily. "It's becoming a problem."

As an answer Constance merely laughed and snuggled closer to him. It was still relatively early and the sun was shining only weakly through the windows of their small bedroom but it was still enough to make d'Artagnan sit up and swing his legs out of bed.

"No," Constance whined, holding on to his hand as he tried to stand. Despite her usually being quite motivated, lately all she had wanted to do was laze around with him. D'Artagnan smirked and leaned down to kiss her lightly.

"Things to do," he said, walking towards the basin and splashing some water on his face. Constance fell back into the blankets with a playful sulk then forced herself up and proceeded to start getting herself ready for the day.

Stood up, her bump was more visible; it was still small but now it could be seen disrupting the fall of her night dress. D'Artagnan, now dressed, came up from behind her and placed his hands on her stomach.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. Constance leaned back into him and smiled.

"Perfect," She said. "And I haven't woken up feeling sick all week."

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Well that's good to know." He kissed her on the cheek then turned for the door. "I'll see you in the yard."

Her attitude towards pregnancy and their baby had changed dramatically since she'd first found out about it. No longer was she frightened of it, but instead she was excited. This didn't mean her concerns had just evaporated away. There was still the possibility her child could be fatherless, or could spend its early years in a city racked by unrest, but these had become side issues and weren't enough to dampen her joy anymore. So much of this change was down to the never ending support d'Artagnan had given her. She smiled as she thought about how doting he had been recently over the smallest of things and how he made sure her workload at the garrison had shrunk to the point where it was almost non-existent.

Just as Constance was tying back her hair she heard the bells in the cathedral ring signalling the time. Elodie would be here soon. While Porthos had been away at the front they had become fast friends, and two or three times a week Elodie would visit the garrison with little Marie-Cessette in the mornings to eat with Constance.

Sure enough, when she left their rooms Elodie had already arrived. She was sat talking with d'Artagnan at one of the tables while he bounced a laughing Marie-Cessette on his knee.

Looking at the child, you could not see much of her mother in her. Instead she took largely after the father she had never met. At just over one year old she already had thick dark curls and dark eyes, and although she was not Porthos' biological daughter, on first glance no one would question that there was anything untraditional about their small family unit.

"Good morning," Constance greeted Elodie, leaning down to hug her. "And hello to you too, my darling." D'Artagnan passed Marie-Cessette to her and she settled her on her hip. "She grows bigger every time you bring her, I swear."

Elodie laughed. "She does, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. You know she took her first steps yesterday?"

"That must have been wonderful for you to see," said Constance, sitting down next to her. Elodie nodded, beaming proudly at her. D'Artagnan stood.

"I do want to hear all this, I genuinely do," he said, sincerely, "but I've got cadets to train." He made a gesture with his head towards the group of musketeer hopefuls that were hovering around the yard and Brujon, who, dressed in his full musketeer garb, was holding a collection of swords for them to practice with.

"I'll fill you in when you're done," said Constance to her husband, "In the meantime, I'll get us something to eat," she added to Elodie.

Over breakfast they discussed numerous topics including how Elodie was coping with Porthos being away (very well in fact – she'd managed on her own previously and now had a place to live and an income to support Marie-Cessette with), what Sylvie and Athos were up to (their last letter had said they had returned to Athos' home, where Sylive had given birth to a baby boy, although they didn't know the name yet), and the general goings on around Paris. Recently the Musketeers had been busy dealing with anti-Spanish rebels stirring up protests against Queen Anne. Due to the heightened tension, d'Artagnan had had to recruit much larger numbers. They watched him as he taught them how to fight with swords and shoot with pistols and muskets, although the noise from the guns had caused Marie-Cessette to cover her small ears with her hands and cry out.

While he had been working hard and enjoyed seeing his cadets improve and flourish under his guidance, Constance could tell that d'Artagnan secretly couldn't wait for Athos to return to take back control of the regiment. The responsibility was a lot for someone who himself had only been a musketeer for a small number of years in comparison to someone like Treville who had been a solider for over a decade. He felt inadequate and unqualified for the position, despite her protestations whenever he voiced these concerns.

After a few hours of conversation and watching the action in the yard, Marie-Cessette was becoming reckless. She fidgeted and wriggled and grizzled unhappily at her mother, who proceeded to scoop her up.

"I'd best be going, she could do with a lie down," Elodie said with resignation. Constance began to rise.

"I'll walk with you," she said, moving to hers and d'Artagnan's rooms to get a travelling cloak.

"No, it's fine, don't worry yourself."

"Oh, no, I want to come."

"Are you sure?"

"To be frank, I simply want to get out of the garrison and stretch my legs." Constance said with a sly smile. "I have no work to do anymore besides numbers and inventory due to this-" she placed a hand on her stomach "- so I don't get out as much as I wish to. I'd be glad for the walk."

As they were leaving d'Artagnan jogged up to her and started walking by her side.

"Off out?" he asked.

"Just walking Elodie home," Constance said, taking his arm. "Would you like to come? I would have asked but I didn't want to bother you."

"I've finished for the morning, and this means we can stop at the market on the way home and pick up some of the bread and cheese you're particularly fond of." He grinned impishly.

"Me?" Constance exclaimed, smacking his arm playfully and laughing along with Elodie. "I think you'll find it's you who has a weakness for it! But if you insist I suppose we can spare a few coins."

The city was busy as they walked the short distance from the garrison to the apartment Elodie and Marie-Cessette were living in. People filled the roads, going about their daily business, and the small party only stopped once to throw a few coins to a street performer who fascinated Marie-Cessette with his sleight of hand tricks. Constance was careful with how long she had her purse on show though - many people in the city were still in very desperate situations and there was no use in tempting and incident to occur, even though she felt quite safe with d'Artagnan.

After they said their goodbyes to Elodie and Marie-Cessette Constance and d'Artagnan strolled leisurely back through the streets, arm in arm, joking and laughing. These were moments Constance cherished; when they were able to spend time together outside the garrison, away from responsibility and the prying eyes of the many people who also lived and worked there. Not that she had anything against them. Some of the musketeers, cadets, and servants were genuine friends of hers, but there wasn't much privacy. Here, even in the busy streets with hundreds of people passing them, the pair felt they were more alone and free to talk than when they were in their own private apartments.

They reached the markets in no time and set about picking up supplies, both for them and for the garrison. When they were done, almost like an impatient child, d'Artagnan lead Constance over to the one particular stall that he had ventured out for. The man who ran it was perhaps in his mid-fifties, fat, and had an easy smile. His name was Lupont, and he sold every variety of cheese it was possible to dream of, along with loaves of bread that smelt wonderful when still warm.

"Good morning, Lupont," d'Artagnan said, cheerfully.

"Captian," said Lupont, with a respectful nod. "And Madame d'Artagnan too! It really is my lucky day to be blessed with such custom. Is he still treating you like a queen?" He gave Constance a serious look, but she was used to his playful banter with her.

"That he is, Monsieur," Constance replied with a grin.

"I should think so too. You must keep it up Captain, I suspect you have many a man trying to steal the lovely Constance away from you," he said, wagging his finger.

"I'm sure they are out there," d'Artagnan said, sliding an arm around Constance's waist. "They keep me on my toes."

Lupont threw his head back and laughed heartily, then clapped his large hands together. "So what will it be this morning? I have a magnificent new camembert in that you have to try."

They picked what they wanted, and Lupont slipped an extra sample of cheese into their parcel as he was wrapping it up for them. Just as Constance had her purse in her hand and was about to pay d'Artagnan spoke.

"Good God," he said under his breath, staring across the market with a stunned look in his face.

"What is it?" Constance said, looking around, concerned. But then a huge smile spread across his face and she relaxed.

"It's an old friend of my father's. I haven't seen him since I left Gascony." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay to finish with this while I say hello?"

"Of course," She said. He grinned happily and turned, half running towards an elderly man stood on the other side of the market. She watched him approach him then saw the old man's face split into a wide grin that caused his eyes to almost disappear into the wrinkled lines on his face. Constance continued to observe and saw the old man touch d'Artagnan's face, then embrace him as he would a son. It warmed her heart to see him like this, but she let them have their moment and turned back to pay Lupont.

However, before she could, Constance's arm was wrenched behind her and she spun round to see a man trying to wrestle the purse from her hand. She cried out and pulled against him, looking frantically for d'Artagnan. Lupont cursed violently at him as he moved to help her and she could see d'Artagnan running towards her, fury and fear in his eyes. The man, seeing d'Artagnan and Lupont closing in, still did not release his hold on her purse. Instead he drew back a fist, swung at Constance and hit her.

It felt as though there had been an explosion by her left eye and everything around her ceased to exist. Her eyes gave her nothing but darkness and her ears provided only a high pitched ringing. She didn't know if she had fallen or if she was still upright, if she was safe or still in danger, or how long she spent this way.

 _Constance_

She could hear him, even in her delirium, yet the words didn't seem real. They were too far away and it was still too dark.

 _Constance, please_

It was him. She could feel hands on her now, one by her face, stroking her cheek, and one holding her hand. There was a smell too… leather… gunpowder… and the soap that sat next to the basin in their room.

"Can you hear me? Constance, please say something." D'Artagnan was squeezing her hand and speaking directly into her ear in a tortured voice. She tried to say she was fine, that he was worried over nothing, but all that came out was a dry sob.

"Oh, thank God," d'Artagnan kissed her forehead as she opened her eyes, blinking in the sunlight. All she could see was him, his face blocking out her surroundings as he inspected her eyes and face with an anxious expression.

"Are you okay?" He asked. Constance forced herself to sit, though still leaning on him. A crowd had gathered around them and she was sat on the dusty, dirty floor of the market, obviously having been knocked off her feet.

"I think I am," she said, quietly. She placed her hands on her stomach, testing how she felt and breathing slowly. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. She raised a hand and cautiously touched the skin around her left eye, testing it. It was sore. It was at this time she realised she was in pain from in injury to her temple also. When she brought her hand away from there it was smeared with blood. She looked to d'Artagnan, panicked.

"Its fine," he said in a calming voice, taking her hand and wiping the blood away, "You're fine. We'll get you sorted. Come on. Let's get back." He pulled her up and they started back but not before she realised she couldn't see her attacker.

"Wait." Constance said, looking around. "Where is he? Did he get away?"

"He didn't," said d'Artgnan darkly, gesturing behind her. She turned to see the Lupont standing over a man sat on the ground with his hands tied and avoiding eye contact with everyone around. He was dirty and skinny and dressed in clothes that hadn't been cleaned or repaired in a long time. His face was lined with age and his hair hung thin and dank to his shoulders. It was a pitiful sight. D'Artagnan led her on, away from the thief.

"I'm guessing he'll be going to the bastille?"

"If he's lucky," d'Artagnan threw a murderous glare over his shoulder at the man, and then softened his gaze to look at Constance, concern all over his face.

Back at the garrison all Constance wanted to do was sleep, although d'Artagnan wouldn't allow it until she was feeling better. Instead he helped her wash the cut on her head from where she had hit the floor and brought her some warm milk with honey. Despite his protestations, he let Constance curl up in bed on the one condition that she kept talking to him.

She was absentmindedly tracing her fingers on her protruding stomach when he placed his hand over hers.

"How is everything feeling?" he said, "How is the baby?" She could see genuine fear in his eyes now and she squeezed his hand and lifted it to kiss it gently.

"No different from before," said Constance.

"Good. I still think we should get someone to check you over though."

"Calm down, it was just a bump to the head," she said with a smile intending to reassure him. It didn't.

"Calm down?" d'Artagnan repeated, stunned. "Constance, you do realise that that was the most frightened that I have ever been? Worse than anything I have seen on the battle field. Watching your wife and unborn child being attacked before your eyes and not being able to do anything, being too far away to stop it…" His voice broke off and his eyes glistened slightly. He took a slow, deep breath to calm himself. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

Constance, feeling her eyes prickle as tears formed, sat up and pulled d'Artagnan into a tight hug and held him until his breathing returned to normal. She kissed his cheek and laid her head on his shoulder.

"But you know," she said softly into his ear. "You can't protect me from everything. And that's not your fault."

D'Artagnan pulled back from her embrace and walked to the other side of the room, leaving her sat alone on the bed.

"Lupont found a dagger on him when he was tying him up," He said, trying to keep his voice emotionless out of fear of it cracking again and betraying him. "What would I have done if he'd decided to use that instead of just hitting you?"

Constance didn't answer. The idea that the outcome of today's events could have been much worse made her feel slightly sick. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around her stomach and chewed on her bottom lip. D'Artagnan, seeing what his words had done to her, came back over to the bed and sat next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry. That was harsh," he said, in a heartfelt voice. "I don't ask that you stay hidden in the garrison every day, only that you let me look out for you and worry about you. I feel that's my right and duty as your husband," he added with a small smile.

She returned the smile and snuggled into his side. "I can accept that, as long as you don't panic too much over things that actually are insignificant."

D'Artagnan frowned. "Like what?"

"Like when Durand accidentally bumped me with a sweeping brush and you didn't talk to him for the rest of the day."

He laughed at the memory the nodded. "Fair enough," he said, "But in my defence he had it coming that day– he had been annoying me for most of the morning over a particular defensive move."

"He just wants to learn," Constance said. "Am I allowed to go to sleep yet? Or do I have to wait another full day before you're happy?"

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. "I suppose so."

He got up to allow her to bury her way beneath the sheets and smiled as she settled down, yawning. D'Artagnan leant down to kiss her lips softly before walking from the small room and closing the door behind him as he left her to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The cathedral bells chimed for two in the morning and the late autumn rain hammered against the windows of their bedroom, but neither of these noises were what was causing d'Artagnan to lie awake in bed, unable to sleep.

He was propped up, his head and shoulders against the wall and Constance was curled up, sleeping soundly, with her head on his chest and her arm draped across him. The gentle snores she was making usually would make him smile, but this time, with a hand resting on her growing stomach, d'Artagnan was thinking of other things.

Lately he'd had trouble sleeping due to the various things on his mind. Last night it had been Constance and the baby, the night before it had been an assassination attempt on the Queen that had been far too close for comfort. This night, however, the Musketeers preoccupied his thoughts. One of the best in the regiment had been killed when trying to subdue a simple drunken fight – he had been alone and unaware that half the tavern was armed and, ultimately, five drunkards with daggers will always beat one Musketeer with a sword in a confined space. Not only was it a blow to d'Artagnan personally, as the murdered man had been one of the most senior ranking Musketeers and someone he trusted for advice, it was a massive hit to the morale of everyone who lived and worked at the Garrison. Constance had been particularly upset.

He glanced down at her and brushed her hair out of her face. She had a pink flush across her cheeks from their combined body heat, but that was all. The black eye she had gained from the attack in the market had faded away to nothing weeks ago, something d'Artagnan was relieved about. Every time he'd looked at her while it was there it had made him feel sick to his stomach, remembering the thief striking her and seeing her fall.

But she was fine now, and, more than ever, she was throwing herself into her work at the garrison, despite him pleading with her to take it easy. The problem was there was just so much to do. An issue that was particularly pressing was the regiment's intake, specifically one Musketeer hopeful named Moreau. The boy was scarcely older than seventeen, yet d'Artagnan saw so much of himself in him he couldn't just forget about him. Moreau had also lost his family and travelled to Paris. He had passion and strength of character and wanted more than anything to serve France as a Musketeer. The only slight issue was that he had next to no ability when it came to the skills vital for being a Musketeer. He couldn't shoot with any kind of accuracy, he had dropped his sword numerous times when he was being assessed, and d'Artagnan suspected that when it came down to it he would be unable to kill anyone – even if it was to save his own life.

At first he had hoped that all Moreau needed was guidance and training, but d'Artagnan was reluctant to take such a risk when the situation in the city, and even in the whole country, was still so tense. So he'd gone for Aramis for advice.

"Treville didn't take risks like that," Aramis had said when he voiced his concerns. "The whole point of the Musketeers is that they're the best – which means not everyone can be one."

"But, well what about me?" d'Artagnan had pressed. "I wasn't ready to be a Musketeer when I first came to Paris?"

Aramis had stayed quiet for a while, thinking how to best word his response. "But you didn't become a Musketeer as soon as you arrived in Paris," he said with a sly smile. "However, Treville wouldn't have even considered you if he didn't see something in you, no matter who you were. It was obvious to us all when you barged into to the garrison and demanded Athos' head that you had potential to become a great Musketeer, and you did."

After getting Aramis' word that he would find a job for the boy at the palace, d'Artagnan had let him go from the cadet training. He still felt guilty though. Everything he had he owed to Treville giving him a chance. What kind of Captain was he if he didn't give others the same chances he was given when in their position?

D'Artagnan was brought out of his contemplations by a fluttering movement under the hand that was resting on Constance's stomach. He froze, keeping his hand where it was, waiting for it again. Then he felt it, stronger this time.

"Constance," he whispered without moving. "Wake up."

She murmured sleepily but when there was another flickering movement her eyes shot open. She moved her hand to cover his and her mouth dropped open.

"Oh my…" she said, stunned. But then her voice became softer. "Wow… I can feel…" Her words faded to nothing and they led together silently feeling their baby's movements. D'Artagnan swallowed against the lump forming in his throat and when he kissed Constance's hair he noticed her eyes were shimmering with tears.

"Are you okay?" he asked as she brushed them away.

"I'm fine," she said, laughing quietly at how emotional she was being. "It just makes it so much more real, to actually feel him – or her – moving around."

D'Artagnan nodded. "It does. I can't tell if I'm excited or frightened."

"A mixture of both, I think," she said with a grin. Constance settled back into d'Artagnan's shoulder and traced her fingers on his chest absentmindedly.

"Have you made up your mind yet?" she asked, "Whether you want a boy or a girl?"

D'Artagnan sighed thoughtfully. "Obviously I'd be perfectly happy with either. But…"

"But?" Constance pushed. D'Artagnan furrowed his brow in thought and waited a while before speaking.

"But, the relationship I had with my father is something I miss and think about every day," he smiled sadly, as he always did when speaking of his father. "To be able to have that relationship with my own son would be amazing. To teach him to shoot, to ride, to be a good person who makes good choices, to be respectful and strong, I'd love to be able to do that for him – as I like to think my father did with me. I want to pass on some of my father to his grandson, since he's not here to do it himself."

"I understand that," said Constance. "But you can teach a daughter to shoot too – you taught me."

"True," laughed d'Artagnan. "What about you? Boy or Girl?"

Constance fell silent and she pulled herself up into a sitting position.

"Constance?"

Constance looked towards him and took a deep breath. "I ache for a little girl," she said, wrapping her arms around her stomach. "Whenever I see Marie-Cessette it makes my heart hurt with longing. I'd love to have my own daughter to watch play and sing and to teach her my own things, like cooking and dress making and healing. But I hope for a boy."

D'Artagnan blinked in confusion and reached out to take her hand. "I don't understand."

Constance shook her head and sat so she was facing him. She reached out and pushed back his hair, smiling fondly as she did so.

"What to have to understand is that you and your friends are a minority amongst men in that you believe that a woman is her own person," she said, carefully, trying not to sound accusatory. "According to most people, and even to the law, I am your property and I was Bonacieux's property before that, and my father's property before that. I have no control over my own life because it doesn't belong to me. I am so unbelievably happy to be married to you; you treat me with the respect that no woman would even dare to dream of and I love you dearly for it. You make me laugh, you make me smile every morning as soon as I wake up and see you." Constance caressed her thumb over d'Artagnan's lower lip before kissing him deeply. When she pulled away she placed her forehead against his and breathed a deep sigh.

"But," she said, in a sad voice. "This shouldn't have happened. In normal circumstances I would still be married to Bonacieux and you would probably still be captain of the musketeers, only with someone else led here beside you. Without our ridiculous luck I would still be trapped in the same marriage I was forced into by my father when I was only seventeen years old. I never hated Bonacieux, but he was cold, unloving, and occasionally violent. I never loved him. I did love my father, and he loved me, but he was dying and wanted to see his only daughter secure and safe before he passed away. To him, and most other people, "safe and secure" means "married to a moderately wealthy man twice her age that she has never met," so I can't blame him for it. Which is exactly why the idea of having a daughter fills me with dread – it's normal for girls to be treated like property." Constance blinked back tears as she finished and looked down, letting her hair hide her face.

D'Artagnan had sat quietly listening in a calm silence as she spoke, his face only showing emotion when she spoke of Bonacieux being violent. From the way his lips twitched she could tell he was remembering the time he struck her and split her lip. Shaking his head slightly, he took her hands and kissed her forehead.

"I didn't know, I…" d'Artagnan said in a low whisper. "I would never, I wouldn't ever treat her like-"

"I know," Constance said quickly, kissing his cheek. "I know you wouldn't. But… do you really expect the rest of the world to think like that?"

They had reached an impasse. D'Artagnan pulled Constance back down so she was lying next to him and the pair led in silence, both contemplating their discussion. She traced patterns on her stomach absentmindedly while he twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers.

"I have some news for you," Constance said, grinning.

"Oh?"

"I got a letter today."

"Who from?"

"My mother." D'Artagnan raised his eyebrows and shifted into a sitting position

"And what did she say," he said, mock fear colouring his voice. Constance laughed.

"She is coming to visit us," said Constance, quickly.

D'Artagnan's expression dropped from his face.

"What?" he said, in disbelief.

"Well she wants to be here for the birth of her grandchild, and I'd quite like to have her here, but she also wants to meet you." Constance smiled widely, trying to make him do the same. "And the last time I saw her you were at war. I miss her – she is my mother after all. She's honestly lovely and I know she will like you -"

"Its fine," he interrupted, looking genuinely pleased. "I can't wait to meet her, and if she makes you feel happier about the birth then even better." He put a hand in her hair and kissed her, before settling back and closing his eyes to go to sleep. Constance bit her lip.

"It isn't just her," she said, scrunching up her face and playing with her fingers awkwardly. D'Artagnan opened his eyes and gave her a questioning look.

"She's bringing my older brothers… all three of them. And Phillipe – the oldest – is bringing his wife Alice… and their two boys." D'Artagnan's eyes widened.

"Constance, I -" He shook his head. "I don't have a problem with them coming, I want to meet them all, but where will they stay? Your mother could stay with us but we don't have the room for seven people?"

"I know, but I have a plan! They can stay at my old house."

"At Bonacieux's?"

"Yes, there are plenty of beds and all it needs is a bit of a clean," she shrugged. "It'll be nice to have people living there again instead of it sitting empty and cold." D'Artagnan listened and nodded in agreement.

"That will work. When are they arriving?"

"Not until the end of March, so they have around a month to get settled in before the baby is born. It takes around a week's ride for them to get to Paris what with my mother and the children."

"We'll have everything sorted by then," D'Artagnan said, but then he looked at her seriously. "You have to promise me one thing though."

"What is it?" she asked. He smirked.

"That your brothers won't gang up on me, because you know I will beat them if it comes down to a sword fight." Constance laughed and hugged him tightly.

"I don't know; Phillipe was the best in our town," she said playfully. D'Artagnan smiled warmly and brought the bed sheets up so that they were both covered and wrapped her in his arms. She kissed his cheek and put her mouth to his ear, whispering softly.

"They are all going to love you."


	4. Chapter 4

The sharp, winter breeze that blew through the streets of Paris made Constance shiver and pull her thick cloak around her. It was made of a fine material she would never have been able to afford and had been a present from the Queen while she'd been working for her. The detailing and richness of the fabric made it far too fancy for her walk across the city this morning, yet Paris was gripped by a particularly cold frost that clung to everything. The cloak was the warmest thing she owned so she really had no choice.

The gravel and dirt on the floor cracked as she stepped and her breath made tiny clouds in the air as she walked towards Elodie's home. In her gloved hands Constance held three small pastries, wrapped carefully in a napkin; one for her, one for Elodie, and one for Marie-Cessette. Together Elodie and Constance had been working on Bonacieux's house to ready it for her family's arrival. Though they weren't arriving for months it was work to keep her busy that was largely indoors, something she was grateful for during the colder weather.

Constance knocked sharply on the door, adjusting her hood while she waited to try and keep the cold out. It was still very early and the streets were still empty when she left d'Artagnan sleeping at the garrison but by now there was the stirrings of life in the city. As she looked around Constance could see stall owners setting up for the market, fishermen who had spent the night in the taverns staggering back towards the docks, and peasant children wandering around, looking for their breakfast. Constance had given a small, skinny boy a coin when she'd seen him, hear heart twisting with pity.

She turned back to the door when she heard the bolt sliding back on the other side. It swung back to reveal a smiling Elodie, still in her night things, her blonde hair loose and falling down her back.

"Good morning," Constance said, stepping over the threshold. Elodie shut the door and by way of a reply simply threw her arms around Constance and hugged her, causing the pastries to drop to the floor.

"Oh, Constance," Elodie said, joyfully. "I've had some amazing news!" She pulled away then looked down to see the pastries broken on the wooden floor. "I'm so sorry, were these for us?" she said, bending down to pick up the remains. Constance nodded. "I'll get us all some more later."

"Don't worry about it," Constance said. "Tell me, what is this news that has you so excited?" Elodie opened her mouth to speak but before she could a child's wail from upstairs got her attention.

"Follow me," Elodie said, turning to run up the stairs to where Marie-Cessette was. Constance had been into their home many times before. It was small but very homely and warm and the windows that let in plenty of light looked out over a pretty square. Constance ascended the stairs, slightly slower than Elodie as the baby was quite big now, and saw Elodie bouncing a sniffling Marie-Cessette on her hip, cooing to her to calm her down.

"So what is it?" Constance asked, eagerly. Elodie beamed at her.

"Porthos is coming home." She hugged her baby towards her and buried her face in her dark hair, looking elated.

"He is?" Constance said, moving forward to embrace her. "That's wonderful!"

"He was injured, but not badly – a musket ball to the thigh – and he needs to rest, so they're sending him back to us," she said. "Papa is coming home, my love," She whispered softly to Marie-Cessette as she rocked her.

When Constance had first heard Elodie refer to Porthos as "Papa" around Marie-Cessette it had caused her to raise her eye brows. She knew that actually the girl's father had died fighting for France before she was even born.

"He is dead," Elodie had said when Constance had questioned her about it. "Dead and not coming back. So why should I deny my child that relationship with Porthos? She will never meet her real father and that makes me unbelievably sad, yet she has a man willing to take on that role, something most people in our situation would never have. Why should I drive a wedge between them by reminding her every time she calls him Papa, or Father that he is not? It would be selfish of me to try and keep my dead husband's memory alive to her at the expense of her being able to call Porthos her father. I will always remember and love him, and I think that's enough." However Constance had felt about this reasoning she had decided that it was not her place to have opinions on other people's decision's regarding their families.

"When did you find out?" Constance asked.

"I got the letter last night," Elodie said, playing with Marie-Cessette's fingers. "It said he'd set off a week ago so he should be home within in the next ten days."

"That means he'll be back for Queen Anne's Christmas ball!" Constance exclaimed. "You're going to love the Palace." Elodie looked confused.

"But I wasn't invited?" she said in a matter of fact tone. "The only people I know who are going are you and d'Artagnan."

"You'll know Aramis too," said Constance. "And if Porthos is back, as a General he'll be automatically invited. As his wife you'll have to come. We're going to have so much fun!" Elodie's face lit up in excitement and she threw an arm around Constance.

"I'm actually quite nervous," she said with a laugh. She stepped back and placed Marie-Cessette on the floor, where she proceeded to pick up a small wooden toy horse and trot it across the floor. Eloide stared adoringly at her and when she looked back at Constance there were tears glistening in her eyes. Constance smiled warmly at her.

"I'm so relieved he's not seriously hurt, and so happy we get him back," Elodie said, her voice breaking with emotion. "It's been hell, Constance." Constance nodded understandingly.

"It is," she said with a sad smile. "But you don't have to worry any more. He's coming home." They stood in silence for a while, contemplating the war, what it had done to their families, and just how lucky they were to still have their loved ones, before moving in to more positive discussions about the ball.

The days leading up to Porthos' return might have felt like an eternity for Elodie, but for Constance they passed in an instant. Her time was taken up doing jobs at the garrison and preparing Bonnacieux's house, as well as spending precious hours with d'Artagnan. When she'd told him of his friend's return he was the happiest he'd been since she told him she was having his baby and he'd immediately sent Durand to the Louvre to tell Aramis. She could tell he'd been missing his friends; besides her they were the only people he knew from his arrival in Paris and they shared a bond that only came from putting their lives on the line together – something she knew she'd never share with him, but she was okay with that.

When the day of Porthos's arrival came the winter fog hung low over the city and the dampness that came with it clung to everything in Paris. This didn't stop his welcome party from waiting outside in the courtyard of the garrison. Aramis had left his duties at the palace to greet his friend and was sat at the benches with Elodie chatting while one of the cadets introduced a squealing Marie-Cessette to the horses. Her laughter rang across the yard and Constance saw d'Artagnan smile at the sound as they descended the steps from his office.

"You look happy," she said, squeezing his arm playfully. He grinned back.

"It's just exciting, isn't it?" he replied. "We'll have that soon." Constance nodded, but her gaze was fixed on Elodie. She sighed heavily and turned to take both d'Artagnan's hands as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Do you think you'll go back?" she said, apprehension colouring her voice. "If they asked you, to go back, that is, to go back to the front, do you think – I mean… would you go?" d'Artagnan exhaled heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

"This has been on your mind for a while, hasn't it?" he asked. Constance nodded.

"I obviously don't want to… but I don't know that I'd have a choice," He saw the panic on her face and continued quickly. "It's my duty and what I do, but that doesn't mean I'd jump at the chance. Leaving you now is the last thing I want to do, I admire Porthos for his strength in doing his duty, but I know without even asking him that this last year will have been one of the toughest times he's ever faced. But don't worry too much, I'm sure that all it needs is a quiet word to the Queen from you and I wouldn't be going anywhere." He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close with a grin. Constance laughed.

"Well, if that's the case I guess I'll just tell her how hard life as a Musketeer is on you," she said, teasingly. "See if I can get you a nice safe job somewhere, doing something where fighting to the death isn't part of the job description." She kissed him softly and then hugged him tightly.

"No, I'd never do that to you," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "I love you too much."

"Is that right?" d'Artagnan said, raising an eyebrow. She nodded, smiling at him. He leant down and kissed her again, this time pulling her into him and burying a hand in her hair. It was a shout from across the yard that caused them to break apart.

"As moving as that display is," Aramis called, amused. "There are children present." He smirked at d'Artagnan as he and Constance walked over.

"Don't mind him," d'Artagnan said under his breath to Constance, but making sure Aramis was in hearing distance. "He's just jealous because he has to keep his romantic escapades under wraps." Constance laughed loudly, Elodie looked scandalised, but Aramis looked impassive.

"Not true, my friend." He said, twisting his moustache into a more sophisticated shape. "I think you'll find that secrecy and mystery only… how can I put this… heighten emotion for all involved." D'Artagnan rolled his eyes at his friend while Constance swatted at Aramis' arm.

"Very funny," she said, chastising him. "Whatever your arrangement is with Anne she is still the Queen. You can't go talking like that out in public."

"Oh, only Elodie heard, and she already knows," Aramis laughed.

"Still," said Constance, with a mock disapproving look.

"Your secret, however improper it may be, is safe with me," Elodie said, shooting Aramis a playful look.

The conversation ended there as the sound of horses' hooves clattering on the road into the garrison reached the small group's ears. Elodie jumped up at the sound and clapped a hand to her mouth as she half ran to the entrance. Aramis placed a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder with a grin and they too walked over to greet the new comers. Constance was about to follow them when she felt a tug on the skirts of her dress. She looked down to see Marrie-Cessette hiding behind her and tentatively peering round to see what was going on. She smiled down at her and stayed where she was, not wanting to upset her.

Seconds later three horses rode into the yard and pulled to a stop, kicking up the frozen dirt that covered the floor. Sat on the centre horse was Porthos, flanked by two, lower ranking soldiers who were carrying his belongings on the backs of their horses. He looked weary and battle worn, with a new scar on his cheek and a beard that was much longer than Constance had ever seen it before. Despite his physical appearance he still wore the biggest smile she'd ever seen.

"Nice to be back," he said, in his low, warm voice. He turned his head around to take in the new appearance of the garrison. "I like the look of the place. It doesn't look like it's going to fall down in a strong wind anymore." As he dismounted d'Artagnan and Aramis laughed and walked towards him, but before they could reach him Elodie ran at Porthos with the impact of a hurricane and threw her arms around his neck. Porthos himself stumbled and his left leg gave way slightly, but he regained his balance and lifted her off the ground with the force of his own hug. Elodie pushed his hair away from his face and held him, whispering words to him that Constance couldn't hear but that made Porthos' face soften with emotion before he kissed her with all the passion of a man who'd been fighting for his country and his life for the past year.

When they finally separated Porthos turned to his friends and embraced them both, laughing his booming laugh and clapping them on the shoulders.

"Keeping standards up here, d'Artagnan?" Porthos asked, jokingly.

"Just about," d'Artagnan said with a smirk. "I haven't found anyone to match any of you two yet though."

"I don't doubt it," said Aramis, adjusting his hat. "We were exceptional." Porthos turned his attention to Constance.

"Constance! Looking as perfect as usual," he said, grinning at her. "You've gotten so big, how are you?" However, before she could answer, Porthos noticed the little girl peering at him from around Constance's dress and he froze. He looked to Elodie unsure as what to do and she smiled at him reassuringly.

"Maman?" a small voice said. Marie-Cessette was pointing at Porthos but looking at her mother confused.

"You know who this is, darling," Elodie said softly. "He's come home." The little girl looked at Porthos silently and the whole group held their breath to see her reaction. She took an unsteady few steps to place herself in front of Constance, still holding on to the fabric of her skirts for balance. Porthos slid into a kneeling position and held out a hand towards her.

"Marie-Cessette," he said, gently, smiling at himself speaking the name. "Don't be scared." She walked slowly over to him, past his out stretched hand, until she was right in front of him. Porthos didn't move or say anything, only waited for Marie-Cessette to decide if she was happy with this new giant in her life. She glanced at her mother before reaching up and putting a tiny hand on Porthos' beard, then placing the other on his cheek, exploring his face. She patted him once and then stepped back, looking directly at him.

"Papa," she said, shortly, then let out a bell-like laugh and clambered up him to hug him. Porthos barked out his joyful laugh in return and scooped up the little girl then wrapped an arm around a beaming Elodie.

Christmas came around quickly after Porthos' return. Constance and d'Artagnan took on looking after Marie-Cessette for Elodie and Porthos for a few days while they took some time to have the honeymoon they never had. They'd accepted the job willingly enough, but it immediately opened their eyes as to how hard the next few years of their lives would be.

"Why doesn't she stay in one place?" d'Artagnan had said when he carried Marie-Cessette back into the yard after she'd nearly run out into the road for the third time that morning. "How can you watch her if she runs off the second you turn your back?" Constance had laughed but fear was beginning to grow; the idea that the two of they would become entirely responsible for another person was terrifying. This didn't necessarily dampen her excitement though, and when she had seen d'Artagnan carrying Marie-Cessette, asleep on his shoulder, up to their rooms to put her to bed her heart had almost burst.

Constance had also spent a lot of time up at the Palace having been summoned by Queen Anne to help with planning the Ball. On her last visit before the Ball the two women were walking through the gardens of the Louvre, wrapped up against the cold weather and discussing the guests that were invited.

"Of course, we have nobles and dignitaries arriving from across the whole of France," Anne said, stress causing her fair eyebrows to knit together. "Unfortunately that means the new Duke of Lorraine. He is a horrid little man who only stayed out of the revolt as he was ill. If he could have been he would have been marching against my son along with his father. Frankly he's lucky he kept his head, never mind the lands and his title I let him have."

"Why does he have to come?" Constance asked. She too had no time for the people who rose up against the Queen. D'Artagnan had been in danger and she herself had nearly died in the fire at the garrison. "Surely you don't have to invite him?"

"That would be nice," Anne said, with a rueful smile. "My ministers are saying I have to show mercy and willingness to forgive. Aramis is the only one who seems to see my side, but even he thinks that the crown should lead by example."

"Is anyone else interesting coming?"

"Well, we do have the Duke of Buckingham coming as he's in Paris at the moment." Anne had a look on her face when she mentioned his name that Constance couldn't place.

"What do you- oh. I see." Constance laughed. "He has a reputation for being quite charming, doesn't he?" Anne blushed and held her head in the most regal position she could.

"The Duke has always carried himself in a way fitting of a man of his position." She said, carefully. "I simply enjoy his company."

"I bet Aramis can't wait to meet him."

"He did say something along those lines," she said. "Although he's more preoccupied with security, he is insisting on being armed – something I'm not happy about." Constance shrugged.

"I know d'Artagnan and Porthos will be?" Constance said. Anne shook her head.

"That's different, Porthos is a general and d'Artagnan is the Captain of the Musketeers, it makes sense for them to be armed," she sighed heavily. "Aramis is a Minister now; I think he forgets he doesn't have to think like a Musketeer all the time anymore." Constance smiled supportively.

"I'm not sure that that's something they can just give up right away," she said, carefully. "It's who they are."

"I suppose," accepted, Anne.

The Ball itself was to take place on Christmas Eve and shortly before it was due to start Constance was sat at the mirror in hers and d'Artagnan's room, humming to herself whilst fixing her hair into an elaborate style, with braids and curls pinned up and tumbling down over her shoulders. She was wearing a dress she'd made herself. The neckline sat low off the shoulders, and the skirts, made of a light blue fabric that looked more expensive than it really was, cut an elegant figure, but also made her stomach less noticeable. She was perfectly happy for people to know she was pregnant, but for one night she wanted to have fun without various strangers coming up to her and touching her belly. The last thing she added was a simple necklace she'd been given to her by her mother when she left for Paris years ago. It held a single pearl that settled at the base of the throat and was one of her most prized possessions.

"Can you help me, please?"

Constance looked up in the mirror to see d'Artagnan looking sheepishly at her, trying to fix up the formal doublet he was wearing. She smiled and walked over to him, expertly managing the clasps.

"There," she said, patting him on the chest. He leant down and brushed his lips against hers.

"You look perfect," he said, twisting a curl between his fingers. He frowned and sighed heavily before speaking again. "We don't have to go if you don't want to. I don't want you to strain yourself." Constance rolled her eyes.

"There is no chance I'm missing tonight," she said firmly. "I haven't done anything fun in months, I need this – you need this! You've been working so hard, I want to spend some time with you outside the garrison. Also, when are we going to be invited to the Louvre for a Ball again?"

"That's a fair point," he said, grinning. "But you have to tell me if you get tired, or… or your feet start to hurt – or even if the music is annoying you. I want you to have a good night."

"That's so sweet," Constance laughed. She reached to the sideboard for his hat and pushed back his hair to put it on him. "You look perfect."

"Almost perfect," said d'Artagnan. He strapped on his sword belt then nodded. "Let's go."

Down in the yard Elodie and Portos were waiting for them. Both had a cup of wine in their hand and Porthos was already on his way to being drunk.

"You're enjoying yourself," Constance teased.

"Hey," Porthos said, slinging an arm around a giggling Elodie. "There were two things I thought I'd never be able to do again when I was fighting in some god forsaken field. One was being able to see this beautiful woman again." He planted a clumsy kiss on Elodie's cheek before continuing. "The other was drink awful Parisian wine. I plan to enjoy both things tonight." He raised his cup into the air and buried his face in Elodie's neck while she laughed loudly. Constance snorted.

"Okay, as eloquent as that was, Porthos," d'Artagnan said with raised eyebrows, "I don't know that I needed that much information." Porthos shrugged, unconcerned.

A whinny from the horse that pulled up outside the garrison's entrance told them that their carriage had arrived.

Travelling through Paris in a carriage was something Constance loved but rarely got the chance to do. The last time she had had the chance had been when she'd been summoned to the Palace with Bonacieux to accept her place in Queen Anne's household. People looked up as the four of them passed, wondering who they might be, and a little boy ran alongside them, trying his best to keep up with the horses.

By the time they reached the palace stars were decorating the night's sky and important people were milling around the doors, waiting to be announced and go in. D'Artagnan helped her down from the carriage and the four of them made their way to the queue. Constance, though incredibly excited, felt oddly out of place. She studied the woman stood in front of her; she had jewels of every colour studded into her dress and her hair reached dizzying heights. This kind of extravagance was something she'd never be able to achieve. D'Artagnan slid his arm around her waist and squeezed gently when he saw her looking.

"She won't be able to move with hair as precarious as that," he whispered, incredulously. "And her dress will rattle like pebbles in a bucket with all those stones on it." Constance had to cover her mouth to hide her laughter and d'Artagnan smiled, seeing that he's cheered her up.

"Come on," Porthos said, putting a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. "You're next." They stepped up and were announced as "Captain d'Artagnan of the Musketeers and Madame d'Artagnan," while behind them Porthos and Elodie were introduced as "General du Vallon and Madame du Vallon." The room itself was full of people dancing and drinking. Candles lit a huge chandelier that hung over the guests and the gold of the candelabras and serving platters glimmered brightly. String instruments were being played on one side of the room, filling the space with a beautiful song that made d'Artagnan drag Constance to the centre to dance. Next to them Aramis was spinning Anne around outrageously, the two of them laughing, not caring about the looks and raised eyebrows from other guests. Half way through the evening the Queen disappeared then returned leading the little King in to make an appearance. His outfit was something to behold; golden fabric with tiny high heeled shoes and ringlets down to his shoulders. The image would have been adorable had he not looked up at his mother with a face that suggested that all he wanted to do was go to sleep.

After he left the dancing began again. Constance danced with Aramis, Porthos – who was slightly over enthusiastic due to the amount of wine he'd had – and various other people she knew, until she couldn't dance any longer. She found Anne sat on a sofa at the edge of the room and sat next to her.

"Having fun?" Anne asked, taking a sip from a glass that a servant handed to her. Constance held up a hand to refuse the one offered to her.

"Too much, I think," she said, taking a deep breath. "I can barely stand after all that." Constance saw Elodie looking slightly lost in a corner on her own. "Do you mind if I call her over?" Constance asked Anne with a nod towards Elodie.

"Of course not," Anne said, "I'd be delighted to finally meet her properly." Constance waved her over and Elodie approached, shyly.

"Your Majesty," she said, respectfully curtseying and keeping her eyes on the floor. Anne smiled and reached forward to take both Elodie's hands and pulled her to sit next to her on the sofa.

"We don't need to bother with all that nonsense," Anne said in a friendly voice. "If Constance likes you then you can guarantee that I will too." Elodie relaxed visibly at this and began chatting with Anne as if they had been friends for years.

D'Artagnan approached after a while, a glass of wine in each hand.

"Want one?" he asked Constance with a grin. She stood to meet him but shook her head.

"No thanks, but I could do with some water?" He nodded and kissed her forehead before going to get her drink.

"He's so sweet to you," Anne said, watching him go. Constance placed her hands on her stomach and laughed.

"He should be; I'm carrying his child after all."

"Excuse me, ladies," said a masculine voice in an English accent. All three of them looked up to see a gentleman sweeping a feathered hat off his head and bowing in front of Anne. Constance looked to her to introduce the stranger, but Anne had shot to her feet and was allowing the man to kiss her hand, grinning from ear to ear.

"My Lord Buckingham!" she said graciously. "How lovely it is to see you!"

"The pleasure is all mine, your Majesty," he said, rising from his bow. "It pains me that it has been so long since I have last set eyes on you." Anne blushed, much to Constance's amazement. She studied the Duke, trying to understand Anne's behaviour. He wasn't unattractive, perhaps a little old for her, but he looked strong and had a pleasant face. However, as she watched the pair converse, she could see that it was very much the Duke's character that Anne found so charming.

"You have to introduce me to your beautiful companions," Buckingham said.

"Of course," smiled Anne. "This here is Elodie du Vallon, wife of General du Vallon – who I'm sure you will meet at some time tonight."

"I'm sure I will," he said, taking Elodie's hand and bowing his head. "I'm honoured to meet you, Madame du Vallon."

"Pleasure to meet you too, my Lord," Elodie said, grinning at being addressed thus.

"And this is Constance d'Artagnan, her husband is Captain d'Artagnan of the Musketeers," Anne said, placing a delicate hand on Constance's arm. Buckingham went to repeat the same action he had just performed to Elodie when suddenly there was a loud noise from across the room that Constance recognised as a shot from a pistol.

Screaming erupted around them and the movement of guests shifted from the careful, deliberate steps of the dances into the panicked, frantic running of people trying to escape from an unknown threat.

"What on earth-?" Buckingham said, turning to see where the commotion was coming from. There was another shot - Constance couldn't work out where from - then, abruptly, Buckingham was falling. He was dead before he hit the floor. Anne was screaming, Elodie was calling for Porthos, but Constance couldn't think, she was still staring at the wide, unmoving eyes of Buckingham as the rest of the guests were streaming around her. Something was pulling her back, away from the crowd, when she saw them; men, dressed in Spanish clothing, converging on the people in the hall, shooting indiscriminately. D'Artagnan was nowhere to be seen, even when Constance yelled his name. Anne was still pulling on her arm, crying that she had to get to her son.

"Elodie," Constance whispered under her breath as they left for the door. She spun round and raised her voice in desperation. "Where's Elodie?" As she said her name she found her, still clinging to the sofa they had been by moments earlier. They locked eyes, Elodie looking terrified, and then she disappeared under the surging multitude of people.

"Constance, we have to go, please!" Anne pleaded with her, pulling, ever more desperately towards the door, tears falling down her face. Then, suddenly, her expression dropped away and her she silently mouthed _"Aramis,"_ while staring over Constance's shoulder. She turned to see what she was looking at and saw him fighting two of the intruders. One pulled his pistol, aimed, and Aramis hit the polished floor.

Anne was screaming again and Constance, though unable to process what had just happened and fear for d'Artagnan filling her body, pulled Anne out of the hall and up a staircase, away from the carnage that was taking place. They ran along the corridor towards the King's rooms, holding up their skirts to keep from falling, until something collided with Constance. For what felt like a second, the world went dark, then, dazed and on the floor, she could hear Anne shouting. She cried out and someone was dragging her by her hair into a room. When she was released Constance sobbed and crawled into a corner, trying to hide herself behind the ornate chair that was all she could see.

Footsteps and gentle hands told her that Anne had run over to her and her face swam into view as she checked Constance was okay.

"Stay exactly where you are," an erratic voice said. Constance looked up and saw a man, one of the attackers, pointing a pistol at them, his hands shaking and his eyes wide. "Make one move and I'll kill you both."


	5. Chapter 5

D'Artagnan had been chatting with a Duke from a distant area of France he had never been to when he heard the first gunshot ring out. He threw the glasses in his hands aside and drew his sword before spinning around, looking firstly for Constance, then for the source of the shot. Immediately he saw her stood with Anne, Elodie, and a man he'd never seen before, but before he could run over another shot sent the room into a frenzy of bodies.

Men in uniforms he recognized to be Spanish were carving their way through the crowd towards the Queen – and Constance. He turned to meet the one nearest to him and cut him down with one lethal movement before the man could raise his pistol at him. He felled another, and another all the while searching desperately for his friends, the Queen, and Constance. Around him guests were screaming and pushing each other to escape and palace guards and musketeers alike where fighting against the intruders. D'Artagnan heard Porthos' bull-like roar echoing through the room and knew at least one of his friends was okay. He found him daringly fighting three at once and ran to aid him.

"Where is the Queen?" he grunted in between landing blows with his sword. D'Artagnan ducked a swipe from an attacker's fist before answering.

"I don't know, I can't find Constance or Elodie either," d'Artagnan said, quickly disposing of the man who'd tried to hit him. "Where is Aramis?" Porthos didn't reply, they just fought on until eventually the onslaught stopped coming.

The floor was littered with bodies, some in evening wear and some in Spanish uniforms. Breathing heavily with exhaustion, d'Artagnan scanned through them searching for familiar dark hair, the fear forming a lump in his throat. He couldn't see her. He looked at the survivors grouped around the room that were crying and shaking, but she still wasn't there either.

 _That means she isn't dead,_ he told himself adamantly. Porthos had found Elodie – she'd managed to hide herself underneath the body of another woman – and he was now checking a cut on her cheek while she tried not to look at the people dead on the ground.

Something moving by his foot made d'Artagnan start and pull his sword out again, before he recognised the doublet.

"Aramis!" he exclaimed. Porthos came running over to help d'Artagnan pull his friend out from underneath someone.

" _Bastards,"_ Aramis hissed, his face scrunched up in pain, as they dragged him into a sitting position.

"At least we know he's alive," snorted Porthos, stepping back. D'Artagnan examined the gunshot wound in his right shoulder.

"I don't think it's too serious," he said, slowly, "Its gone straight through and I'm pretty sure it hasn't hit anything important."

"Where is Anne? The King?" Aramis said through a strained voice. "I saw Constance drag her out, but after that I don't know where they went." Aramis nodded towards the door that led further in to the palace.

"D'Artagnan, look at this," Porthos said, gesturing him to join him. He was stood over one of the dead Spanish men, looking down at him thoughtfully. "Look at his ankles." D'Artagnan looked. There was about four inches of bare skin between the man's ankles and the end of his trousers.

"He could have had a growth spurt?" d'Artagnan said, confused. Porthos rolled his eyes.

"This man looks to be around thirty." He said, shortly. "Fully grown men do not have growth spurts. So why are his clothes much too short for him?"

"They aren't his." D'Artagnan said. He checked the others. Sure enough there were ill fitting jackets and missing items that all Spanish soldiers would always have on them, like their hats or sashes. "These aren't soldiers." Porthos nodded.

"Come on," d'Artagnan said, worried. "We need to find Constance and the Queen."

"Yeah, we do." Porthos gestured to some guards to join them then picked up a pistol and handed it to Elodie. "Stay with Aramis, and use this if you have to."

"Stay safe," she said, taking it. Porthos smiled and he, d'Artagnan and the guards left the room.

"Please," Anne said, not taking her eyes off the pistol aimed at her. "Let me sit her up, she's with child." Constance was dizzy and led uncomfortably curled around a chair leg. The man with the gun nodded sharply and stepped back slightly, allowing Anne to pull Constance up and help her into the chair. "Are you alright?" she whispered to her, concerned.

"I think so," Constance replied under her breath. The screaming and gunshots could still be heard echoing from below and every one made Constance's heart constrict.

"Step back now," The man said, taking Anne by the elbow and dragging her abruptly away from Constance.

"What are you doing?" Constance cried, outraged. "She is the Queen of France!" The man fixed her with a murderous glare, but all the while his hands were shaking and his eyes were darting towards the windows and the door.

"Not in this room," he said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. Constance scrutinised him.

"You're not Spanish, are you?" She said after he spoke, narrowing her eyes at the amateur way he held his pistol. "You're not even a solider. Who are you?"

"Why have you butchered those people?" Anne said, accusation in her voice. She stepped towards him and shouted, agonised. "Why are my friends dead on the floor downstairs, who are you-"

"NO!" the man yelled, forcing his pistol underneath Anne's chin. She froze and Constance cried out, but he didn't remove it. He lowered his voice until it was practically inaudible and stared into Anne's face, fury replacing the fear that had been so evident in him seconds earlier. "I will not be spoken to like this by some Spanish bitch. You think that by giving pennies to the poor on Sundays people will love you? No. You're still the sister of the man who orders his men to ravage our country, but you raise our King. We aren't going to accept it. We are here to take the King and deliver him to those who will raise him French, not corrupt him into becoming Phillip's plaything."

"Who?" Constance asked, desperate to keep him talking. "Who were you to take the King to?" Anne was shaking violently, but refusing to look away from the man.

"You know him, he was here tonight," he said with a smile.

"Tell me who," Anne said forcefully, despite the pistol pressed into her throat. He was about to retort, and angrily from the way he brought his face close to Anne's, when suddenly there was silence from downstairs.

"I guess that means the rest of your friends are dead too," he smirked, stepping back and removing the gun. Anne visibly swayed in relief and moved to stand by the chair Constance was in.

"Or yours are," Constance said coldly. He snapped his head towards her and glared.

"Your husband was with you tonight, yes?" he said, bending to be at eyelevel with her. Constance stayed quiet and looked towards the fireplace instead. "He didn't do a very good job looking after you and the little one, did he?" She felt a pressure on her stomach and looked down to see the pistol there. Constance could feel her heartbeat thundering in her throat and she felt she was about to throw up from being so terrified. Through her terror however, she saw a poker on the hearth.

"You two are going to stay quiet," he said, his voice deathly soft, as he moved back towards the door, the gun still levelled at Constance, "Until my friends join us. Then, you will show us where the King is, unless they've already found him."

"I will not." whispered Anne with her face blank and emotionless. The man looked furious.

"You will not?"

"Yes," Anne replied, coolly. "I will not."

"You have no power here anymore!" he yelled, lunging towards her, Anne flinching at his outrage. "You will-"

The sound of people making their way along the corridor made him freeze and a grin spread across his face. Constance was trembling, praying that it was her people and not his.

"Check the doors!" she heard from the hallway and her heart leapt as she recognised d'Artagnan's voice. Anne recognised it too.

"We're in here!" Anne called desperately. "Please, we're in here!" Panic crossed the man's face and Constance knew instantly that Anne had made a mistake. She tried to stand, to protect her in some way, but he was already swinging and the handle of his pistol hit her faced and sent her to the floor. Constance screamed and someone was rattling the door handle. He swung around and aimed his pistol towards it. Constance grabbed the poker and cracked it against the back of his head as the door flew open and the gun went off.

Familiar arms were around her and she let them bear her weight, tears of relief falling down her face and staining d'Artagnan's doublet. She placed her hands on either side of his face, trying to see that he was okay.

"You aren't hurt?" she asked, her voice breaking. He shook his head and kissed the palm of her hand.

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine." D'Artagnan looked to where Porthos was checking Anne over. Both he and Constance felt that they should be paying more attention to her but at that moment they didn't care. "Did he hurt you?" Constance was about to say he didn't, but then she remembered the gun pointed at their unborn child and anger filled her and she decided to tell him everything.

D'Artagnan's face twisted with disgust as she spoke and when she finished he pulled her close and kissed her hair softly, but she could feel his deep breathing and his heart beating fast. He let her go and silently walked over to the man, now restrained and watched by the palace guards that had run in with them. Constance knew what he was going to do and a small part of her wanted to tell him to stop, but a larger part was still angry at how he had threatened their child, so she let him carry on. D'Artagnan waited for the man to look at him then hit him hard once, and the man crumpled, knocked out.

"D'Artagnan?" Porthos said, questioningly, but he didn't answer. Instead he turned to a guard.

"Take a few men with you and get to the King," he instructed and they left.

"You mean no one has seen my son?" Anne asked, panicked. She pushed herself up into a standing position and Constance noticed a bloody graze across her cheekbone where she had been hit. Anne scanned around the room and her voice dropped to a whisper. "Where is Aramis?"

"He's okay," d'Artagnan said, trying to calm her. Porthos snorted.

"He's been better," He said. "He was shot, but he should make a full recovery." Despite his attempts at reassurance Anne's face turned white.

The guards returned with the little King and Anne dropped to her knees to scoop him into a tight hug and kiss his head. Constance helped Anne to settle him and put him to sleep and stayed with her for a while, making sure she was okay while d'Artagnan and Porthos made arrangements with the palace guards to secure the palace and deal with their prisoner. Aramis had been taken to Anne's doctor's rooms and was being seen to and Elodie joined Constance upstairs.

"That was the most scared I have ever been," she said, linking arms with Constance as they walked together back to the room d'Artagnan and Porthos were discussing in.

"You're safe now," Constance said reassuringly, squeezing her hand. Elodie smiled weakly.

"Is this what being married to a musketeer is always like?" she laughed, shaking her head. Constance was about to say no, but memories of many near death experiences from her years of knowing d'Artagnan flooded back to her before she could.

"It is an occupational hazard, yes." Constance said as they entered the room and D'Artagnan and Porthos turned to look at them. Constance grinned at Elodie. "But worth it."

"Ready to go?" d'Artagnan asked. Constance nodded. Being home with him sounded like the most comforting thing in the world after the night they'd had. They said good bye to Porthos and Elodie and made their way out of the palace.

Once home d'Artagnan flopped onto their bed without even taking off his sword. Constance laughed and sat down next to him and began pulling out the pins in her hair to let her curls fall free. D'Artagnan snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her down to lie next to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. D'Artagnan placed a hand on her stomach and his expression grew serious.

"You're sure you're okay?" he asked. Constance nodded and placed a hand over his, giving him what she hoped was a comforting look. "He didn't hurt me too much." The muscle in d'Artagnan's jaw twitched when she mentioned him so she carried on talking to change the subject. "Will you be questioning him tomorrow?" D'Artagnan nodded then laughed.

"I think he'll have an awful headache though," he said, looking admiringly at her. "I saw that hit you gave him with the poker – quite impressive." Constance shrugged dismissively.

"He was pointing a gun at you," she mumbled. "I just…I don't know…" When her voice trailed off he turned his head and kissed her, pulling her close. When he pulled away he pushed her hair back and held her face.

"Every day you surprise me," he said, huskily. "Every day you make the proudest, happiest man in the whole of France to have you." After all these years Constance was still affected when he spoke like this. She buried her face in his chest and felt a blush colouring her cheeks as she smiled.

"It's really nothing compared to what you do," she said. "I'd have died long before now if it wasn't for you." D'Artagnan frowned.

"Please don't talk like that," he said, uncomfortable at the thought.

"But it is true!" she protested. Constance pushed herself up into a sitting position and d'Artagnan followed suit. "Whenever anything like tonight happens I'm reminded of how lucky I am to be your wife. You…" she took a deep breath and sighed. "Well… I love you." D'Artagnan smiled, kissed her again, and pulled her back down onto the bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Constance groaned loudly, placing her hands on her hips and stretching her back after letting a basket of food thump onto the table. She felt familiar arms wrap around her and d'Artagnan's lips on her shoulder.

"Need any help?" he asked, softly. Constance smiled and closed her eyes before turning to wrap her arms around his neck.

"I could have used you two minutes ago," she said, gesturing her head towards the basket. "Imagine, letting your wife - who is very, very pregnant I might add - struggle with supplies to feed her family, all the way from the cart to the house-"

"I am such an awful person," d'Artagnan interrupted, rolling his eyes at her and smirking, "How do you cope with a husband like me?"

"I just about manage," she said. D'Artagnan kissed her nose and sat on the table, reaching for an apple from the basket. Constance swatted at him, but he dodged out the way.

"Those aren't for you!" she said, but all he did to reply was raise his eyebrows playfully and take a bite. Constance couldn't help but smile.

They were in the kitchen of her old house having been working for months to make it fit for guests again. Any evidence that Constance had had a life here with Bonacieux had been removed though. The equipment he had used for his trade and the reams of fabric that had filled the reception rooms had been stowed in the attic out of sight and Constance, with the help of Elodie, had transformed the bedroom that she had shared with him into a room for her two nephews. Two small beds had been placed in it and left on the side board for them to play with were little fabric dolls she had made, dressed in French soldier's uniforms. She still didn't know how she felt about the house. Whenever she came here guilt was the feeling that overwhelmed her. She felt for her first husband. Although she never loved him (he was weak and had no passion in him) he never deserved to have a wife that abandoned him, nor did he deserve to die alone as he did. Despite this, it wasn't enough to make her regret her decisions.

D'Artagnan was still sat on the table, tracing his fingers along a groove in the wood, smiling softly to himself.

"What has you so happy?" she asked.

"I like being here," he said, still looking at the table. "It brings back memories." Constance was confused. Obviously they felt very differently about this house.

"What memories?" she asked. D'Artagnan looked at her knowingly, waiting for her to realise. Then she noticed where he was sitting.

"Oh!" Constance blushed, looking at the table, and then to the wooden cabinet across the room. She hadn't realised but the whole room was full of reminders of the first time he told her he loved her, the first time he'd kissed her for real without an excuse, and the first time Constance had been with him. The memory flustered her as she recalled every touch and every sensation and she took a deep breath to steady herself. D'Artagnan laughed and pulled her towards him to embrace her. He rested her hands on her stomach and his chin on her shoulder.

"Lot of things have changed since then," he said, looking around them. They stood in a comfortable silence for a few minutes thinking about how they got to be where they were, when suddenly horses hooves and the sound of wheels alerted them to an arrival. Without a word, Constance shot out of d'Artagnan's arms and ran to the door faster than she'd moved in months.

By the time he'd reached the yard Constance was sobbing into the arms of a tiny woman he could only guess was her mother. The woman had the same dark curls as her daughter only hers were shot through with silver. Her face was kind and lined and she stood a good foot smaller than Constance but that wasn't stopping her from holding her as a mother would her child. D'Artagnan looked away and saw three men, all older than him, he noted, climbing down from horses. They all looked well-worn from the journey and, as one helped a young woman and two little boys down from the cart they'd arrived in, Constance's eldest brother approached him, his hand outstretched.

"Captain," he said, in a voice that was polite and measured. D'Artagnan took his hand and shook it once.

"Please, call me d'Artagnan," he said, trying to sound as welcoming as possible. "Phillipe, isn't it?" Phillipe smiled and nodded but before he could say anything else Constance had appeared and was pulling her brother into a tight hug, laughing happily.

They brought all their belongings inside the house and spent the next half an hour getting everyone settled, while d'Artagnan stayed mostly out of the way. He felt oddly like a spare part in that there hadn't actually been time to introduce himself to everyone. While Constance was having a rapid Conversation with her youngest brother – Benoit, if he remembered correctly – d'Artagnan went to find a drink in the kitchen, but instead walked straight into the woman he'd seen earlier, making her drop the dish of vegetables she'd been preparing.

"I'm so sorry!" he said, dropping to the floor to pick it up. "Please, let me help." She said nothing but gave him a thankful smile as she took it back from him. D'Artgnan shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to do with himself.

"You're Alice, Phillipe's wife?" he asked, trying to break the awkward silence that had formed. She nodded.

"And you are d'Artagnan, Constance's husband." It wasn't a question, just a statement. "It's nice to meet you finally."

Alice was a conventionally pretty woman, with long blonde hair twisted into an intricate style, large blue eyes and delicate features, but from the second she'd stepped down from the cart she'd seemed reserved, almost like she was hiding herself. D'Artagnan now thought he knew why. Down the right side of her neck the skin was ridged and scarred, continuing down to her right hand, with what looked like healed burns. She saw him looking and quickly adjusted her hair to cover it and d'Artagnan cleared his throat and looked in the opposite direction.

"I think Constance might need my help. Excuse me," he said, bowing from the room, embarrassed.

By the time everything that needed to be done was settled dusk had fallen and Constance and d'Artagnan decided to stay and eat with her family. The kitchen was cramped with nine people eating in it but it was welcome; D'Artagnan hadn't been in a real family environment since he had left Gascony, unless you counted the garrison, but this was somehow different. Plus, it gave him more joy than he could have ever imagined to see Constance laughing hysterically with the family she hadn't seen in years, her face positively glowing. Her family itself was rowdy, loud and not shy of being cutting with each other. Not long after they'd arrived Lucas, the middle brother, had made a scathing comment about Constance's appearance. D'Artagnan had been about to turn on him for it only to see Constance burst out laughing and punch him in the chest – something that Lucas also found hilarious. D'Artagnan had no siblings and definitely no sisters – he didn't think he'd ever be able to speak to a woman the way Constance's brothers thought it was normal to speak to her.

Phillipe was the tallest of the three brothers and the only one to share Constance's hair. He was probably around thirty and had lines around his eyes and skin darkened by the sun that made him look older than he was. He was a blacksmith and had skilled hands that were coarse and rough from working in the harsh conditions. Lucas was the opposite; fair and blonde and shorter than d'Artagnan. Constance had told him that he was a tailor by trade and was actually the reason their father had met Bonacieux. Lucas had been his apprentice when he was young. She'd warned him that Lucas was the one who'd been the most unimpressed about their origins as a couple; he'd gotten on well with Bonacieux and had been very upset when he'd died. Despite this he was pleasant enough with d'Artagnan, if not a little reserved. Benoit on the other hand could not be more fun to be around. He was the closest in age to Constance, her favourite, and was the first to embrace her after her mother. Everything about him was welcoming, from his friendly mannerisms to the way he put the room at ease. D'Artagnan could tell that if he was to become genuine friends with any of his new brothers-in-law it was most likely to be Benoit. Phillipe and Alice's two boys, Richard and Samuel, were aged nine and seven and were fascinated by both Constance and d'Artagnan. Constance because they had never met her and she was obviously talked of often in their house, and d'Artagnan because of his reputation as a war hero. It was something he often forgot about, that young boys across France would hear stories and play games pretending to be Porthos, Athos, or himself, leading the famous Musketeer regiment into battle against the wicked Spanish.

It was Constance's mother, however, that d'Artagnan had been the most nervous to meet – though he refused to show it. He needn't have worried. As soon as she saw Madame Lemaire, which was how he addressed her before she had told him to simply call her Sabine, she had pulled him into a tight hug that d'Artagnan thought might break his ribs.

"It's wonderful to finally meet you, young man," she had said, with a hand on his cheek. "You cannot imagine how much good it does me to know that my only daughter is finally happy."

"That's all I want," he'd said. "For Constance to be happy." Her mother had contemplated him silently for a time after that, but then simply nodded.

"I feel we will get on very well then d'Artagnan," she'd said, before walking past him into the house. As the evening wore on Constance had starting talking to her mother and Alice about childbirth and other topics d'Artagnan had little knowledge of. Benoit was outside in the yard, playing with "swords" that were actually sticks with Richard and Samuel and their laughter drew d'Artagnan outside to watch. Although only young, Samuel was giving his older brother a hard time, dealing him swift and nimble blows. Benoit was being the gracious uncle and was allowing himself to be stabbed over and over again by the boys, all the while yelling that he'd been beaten, before falling to the floor in defeat. The boys cheered and d'Artagnan, who'd been leaning against the wall drinking from a cup of wine, applauded their achievement.

"Your boy will probably be much better than they are, with you teaching them," said a voice from next to him. D'Artagnan hadn't even noticed but Phillipe had joined him out in the dark yard, also with a drink. For someone so tall he moved almost silently.

"That's if we have a boy," he said, taking a drink. "But I suppose if we have a daughter I'll teach her just the same." Phillipe looked taken aback.

"Really?" he said, confused. "You'd teach your daughter to handle swords and pistols?"

"Why not?" d'Artagnan said. "I taught Constance." Phillipe laughed.

"That doesn't surprise me at all," he said, taking a drink from his own cup. "I have vivid memories from my childhood of Constance getting into fierce rows with our father because he told her she couldn't join in our games, or that she had to learn things we didn't have to, like cooking. She was never one to take us being treated better than her." It made d'Artagnan feel proud to hear that Constance had always been strong – even though they didn't know each other existed at this point.

"She's never lost it either," d'Artagnan said, fondly. "Anyway, I don't know what you mean about my son being better that yours at sword fighting; Samuel is a natural. Look at the way he was anticipating his brothers moves before he made them – that can't be taught. And Richard's balance is very, very good for someone his age." Phillipe smiled.

"They're decent kids, I'm proud of them," he said, with the tone of a man who only speaks as openly as this after he has had a few cups of wine, which he definitely had. Constance's brothers, along with d'Artagnan's help, had made their way through quite a few bottles throughout the course of the evening.

"In fact," Phillipe continued, "I was meaning to ask you something."

"Go ahead," d'Artagnan said. He tried his best to sound approachable but inside he was a little concerned about where this could be going, especially since Constance had told him about Lucas' disapproval of their early relationship.

"The boys, particularly Richard, have been asking if they can see the garrison," Phillipe said, almost hesitantly, as though he didn't want to appear too forward. "And I know, although they haven't asked, that meeting Porthos and Athos would make them very happy. I thought I'd run it by you and see what you thought."

"Oh," said d'Artagnan, a little stunned by the topic of the question. He had been mentally preparing himself for a very awkward conversation, and possibly even an argument. His relief that he wouldn't have to deal with that meant that there was perhaps a little too much enthusiasm in his answer. "Of course! They can come and watch the cadets training tomorrow if they want? Porthos will probably be there anyway so they can meet him."

"That would be great," Phillipe said, smiling. "Is Athos not involved with the Musketeers anymore then? Or is he at the front at the moment?"

"Neither really," said d'Artagnan. "I took over as Captain over a year ago when he left with Sylvie to have their baby. As far as we know they're staying at his estate in the counrtyside and I'm not sure when he'll be returning." Phillipe frowned.

"So he's just left?" he said, slightly incredulously. "I thought there was some rule that soldiers couldn't take leave during times of war? I understand that you're in charge of the Musketeers, and Porthos, well, he did go back to the front, didn't he? He was injured and has returned now. So why had Athos just gone?" Annoyance fluttered in d'Artagnan's chest at these words. Often these thoughts came to him when he was particularly stressed about the garrison, or worrying that he'll be drafted to the front again without warning but he always remembered just how much his friend had been through in the past few years. What with Milady, their four years fighting, and everything that happened with Sylvie and the refugees his friend deserved some time with his new family. Of course he wasn't about to explain all this to Phillipe. He might be Constance's brother but he had only known him a day. Instead he decided to subtly go on the offensive.

"Where did you fight again?" he said, coolly. "Constance didn't mention which regiment you were in." Phillipe, seeing that he had touched a nerve smiled apologetically.

"You know as well as I do that I've never seen a battle field," he said, taking a drink. "Not because I'm a coward or anything like that, but because my profession means I'm required to work during times like these. Soldiers like you can hardly fight if there's no one like me to make weapons for you, can they?"

"This is true," d'Artagnan said, nodding his head. The two men had reached a sense of mutual apology without either of them having to utter the words. While they'd been talking the two boys had gone in and night had well and truly settled over Paris. Constance appeared in the doorway, her shawl draped around her shoulders indicating she was ready for leaving. D'Artagnan couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked with the moonlight highlighting her face and her hair. He drained his cup and held out a hand to Phillipe, who shook it.

"It's been nice to meet you," d'Artagnan said. "If you still want to come the cadets begin training at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

"We'll see you then," Phillipe said.

After saying their goodbyes to the family Constance and d'Artagnan climbed up into the driver's seat of the cart they had brought with them. D'Artagnan took the reins and, with a click of his tongue and a flick of his wrists, set the horse off pulling them through a dark and peaceful Paris. Constance sighed contentedly and settled her head against his shoulder, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth.

"I've missed them all so much," she said quietly. "I haven't seen my mother since the beginning of the war, and I'd never even met the boys before today. They look so much like Phillipe it's scary."

"He was telling me tales of when you were a child, you know," d'Artagnan said, teasing. Constance lifted her head and looked annoyed.

"What did he say?" she said, tentatively. "If he said anything bad I'll kill him."

"No, nothing like that!" he said quickly, laughing and trying to keep himself out of trouble. "Just about how you would try and be like them." Constance looked satisfied but nevertheless rolled her eyes at the idea of her brother telling him stories about her. Her reaction piqued his interest though. "Why, is there some big secret I should know about from when you were a teenager? Or some other scandal you've kept hidden from me?" Constance giggled and shoved his arm but then brushed a stray lock of hair out of his face and gave him a fond look.

"You know they all like you," she said, proudly. D'Artagnan threw her a doubtful look.

"Even Lucas?"

"Even Lucas," Constance smirked. "I shouldn't tell you this, but I caught Alice admiring you when she thought I wasn't looking. It's oddly satisfying, seen as everyone back home thinks she's the most beautiful woman in the village and no one even looked twice at me. Is that petty and just plain childish of me?"

"Not at all," d'Artagnan said. "In fact you should get used to it, what with being married to a famous war hero and all that. I'm bound to attract attention." Constance raised her eyebrows sarcastically.

"Really? Should I be concerned?" she asked, playfully.

"I may have seduced a woman out of her marriage once," he said, kissing her gently on the cheek, "but no one could tempt me out of mine." Constance blushed and kissed him back, before pushing him away and laughing.

"Keep your eyes on what you're doing," she said, gesturing to the horse in front of them, but instead of laughing along with her d'Artagnan fell quiet.

"D'Artagnan?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

"Just because we're talking of Alice," he said, as though he wasn't quite sure how to phrase his next sentence. "Can I ask something?"

"Of course."

"What happened to her?" he asked, curious. "I mean, her neck, arm and hand…" he trailed off, not sure how to finish.

"You mean the burns?" Constance asked, clarifying. D'Artagnan nodded. Constance's eyebrows knitted together in thought as the cart rocked them both over the bumpy road.

"I know it's obvious to everyone who sees her, and I probably should have mentioned it, but in all honesty I forgot." Constance said, carefully. "Alice herself isn't upset about it anymore – she's used to people staring- but you can't ever mention it in front of Phillipe." She fixed him with a look she saved only for when she was really serious.

"I promise, I won't," he said.

"You remember I told you that Phillipe was a blacksmith?" she said, gently. "Well… now, I don't know all the details, I got this from my mother. What she told me was that there was an accident in his shop and Alice was badly burnt, they didn't think she was going to survive. For six months the boys didn't know if they were going to lose their mother and, although I know he would never ever hurt anyone purposefully, apparently it was Phillipe's fault and I know blames himself horribly for it."

D'Artagnan remembered just how large and vicious the scars that covered the right side of Alice's body had been and thought how awful it must be for Phillipe to have a constant reminder of something he did every time he looked at his wife. He couldn't imagine being able to live with himself if he ever hurt Constance like that. Just seeing her with a split lip had sent him into a rage and in those weeks that she had had a black eye it had been difficult for him to look at her without the pangs of guilt from not being able to protect her filling his body. Suddenly the image of Constance, holding their child in her arms and standing in the courtyard of the old garrison, slowly catching fire filled his mind and he physically shuddered to chase the thought away. He put an arm around her and pulled her close as they carried on their short journey home.


	7. Chapter 7

"For God's sake, Durand," Constance said with an exasperated sigh. "The King and Queen Anne will be here soon; can you please get those horses away and get yourself dressed into your uniform." The cadet bowed his head apologetically and quickly led the offending horse into the stables. Constance had been walking across the hectic yard of the garrison with her mother and d'Artagnan and had noticed that the cadet was still in his own clothes and not wearing his sword belt or carrying his pistol. It was purely for show this morning, and even though she considered Anne more of a friend than a Queen the garrison had to play the part of a well-oiled regiment, especially after the even at the ball a few months previously.

"Shouldn't that be d'Artagnan's job? To tell the cadets off?" her mother asked, incredulously. Constance could understand her confusion; her mother had never seen her as anything other than a tailor's wife and never as someone who listened to and respected by soldiers.

"He is too nice to them when they're not fighting," she said with a sly grin. "And mess really doesn't concern him that much" d'Artagnan shrugged, unconcerned.

"As long as they win their battles and don't embarrass me too much I couldn't care less about a messy yard," he said, indifferently. But then he noticed a group of musketeers in the corner being a little too rowdy and his eyes narrowed. "Actually, I take that back. They really do need to be getting ready."

Constance laughed as he walked off towards the men and made her way up the steps to the balcony with her mother to stand with the rest of her family, Elodie, Porthos, and Marie-Cessette. Usually a meeting with Anne and the King didn't include all the formalities that were called for today. Constance would simply arrive at the palace and be shown straight into Anne's private rooms – provided she wasn't busy ruling France. However, today was the official inspection of the Musketeers and as the King and all his ministers - Aramis included – would be present the occasion called for at least some ceremony.

Her nephews didn't seem to appreciate having to stay up on the balcony while all the horses and Musketeers were down below though. Richard was whining at his mother that he was bored and Samuel was kicking at one of the railing posts until Phillipe gave him a light cuff on the back of the head.

"Behave, both of you," he said sternly. "You're about to meet your King. Do you want him to think you both still act babies?" The two boys shook their heads and looked to the floor. Alice smirked at Constance.

"You have all this to look forward to," she said. "It's a good thing you're a patient woman, Constance." Before she could answer Porthos barked out a laugh that made even her jump.

"Patient? Constance?" he said, picking up Marie-Cessette. "The first time I ever met you, Constance, you slapped Aramis in the face because he didn't give you a straight answer, and you've threated to do worst to me a number of times." Elodie rolled her eyes.

"So have I," she said. "And you usually deserve it." Porthos opened his mouth to reply but before he could Brujon came flying into the garrison on horseback.

"They're minutes away!" he called, dismounting. "They've just entered this part of the city."

"That's my cue," said Porthos, passing Marie-Cessette to Eldoie and leaving the balcony as d'Artagnan lined the regiment up in the yard. Constance could see her mother fussing with her skirts and getting flustered at the thought of meeting the Queen while Lucas, who had been sulking against the door frame scowled.

"What is it?" Constance asked sharply. She hadn't even noticed his mood until now.

"Does it matter?" Lucas said, venom in his voice.

"Yes, it does!"

"You want me to say it now?" he said, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Well you're behaving like a child now so we might as well get it over with."

"Both of you, stop it!" her mother snapped. "This is ridiculous." Lucas straightened up and walked over to Constance, looming over her like he used to do when they argued as children.

"No, what is ridiculous, mother, is that we are about to spend our morning bowing and doting on a Queen whose doesn't even call France her home and will most likely arrive wearing a dress expensive enough to let our entire town feast every night for the next year." Benoit placed a hand on Lucas' shoulder to calm him but he just shrugged it off. "I respect the King. I refuse to respect his Spanish mother."

"Anne has called France her home since she was fourteen years old!" Constance said, raising her voice.

"Constance, please… don't upset yourself," Alice said softly, concern on her face. "Think of the baby." But Constance was enraged. She could feel the anger spreading through her, furious that her own brother was as ignorant as those she had been attacked by at the Louvre. She shoved Lucas in the chest and cried out, infuriated, causing the men in the yard, including d'Artagnan and Porthos, to look up towards them, and her mother to mutter "Really, Constance!" D'Artagnan made to come over but the sound of a carriage pulling into the yard stopped him. The musketeers stood to attention and Constance's family all rushed to the bannister to get a better view, all except her and Lucas. She fixed him with a cool glare and spoke with a restrained voice.

"You're better than this. I never had you for someone who had so much hate in them," she said. "I want you to leave; you can't meet her after this, and then I want you to come back so we can talk properly." Lucas' mouth was thin with resentment but he listened. He nodded once and moved towards the steps.

"Not that way," Constance said. "You're not walking through the yard while the King and Anne are there. Go out the back way." She gestured towards d'Artagnan's office that had another exit attached. Lucas went, slamming the office door as he did.

Constance took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, her heart hammering and her hands on her stomach. She could feel the baby moving around faster than usual, she'd noticed this happened more when she was feeling particularly strong emotions. She stroked her belly slowly, and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Sush, darling," she whispered. "We're fine." She was due to give birth any day now and while the worry she had felt at the beginning of her pregnancy was creeping back into her mind, it was discomfort at being so big that was her primary focus. Her back was aching, her emotions were erratic, she couldn't spend too much time on her feet and she was constantly getting little twinges here and there that were beginning to get painful. Her mother gave her a sad but reassuring smile and reached out a hand to her, bringing her to the balcony to watch.

Aramis was the first to exit the carriage, dressed in his bright blue uniform and feathered hat – something he wore with immense pride – and he greeted d'Artagnan and Porthos first with respectful handshakes that the occasion called for and then with hugs that better fitted the friends. It was impossible to tell that he'd been shot only months earlier. Luckily the bullet had passed straight through his shoulder and caused no serious damage, though according to d'Artagnan he wasn't quite as resourceful with a sword in his right hand as he used to be – something he was working hard to improve. Anne was next and, unfortunately, Constance saw that she was indeed dressed so finely it took her breath away. She heard her mother make a funny noise, something in the realm of amazement, and Alice leant over the railing to get a better look.

"She's so beautiful," she said quietly.

"And unattached, yes?" Benoit said in a crude voice with a raised eyebrow. Constance snorted and threw an elbow into his ribs playfully.

"Not in a million years," she said laughing. Somehow comments like this from Benoit didn't irritate her at all like they would from Phillipe or Lucas. He just had a boyish spirit to him that made it impossible for her to take anything she said seriously.

As Aramis was helping the King down into the yard everyone sunk into a bow or curtsey, Constance holding on the railing to help herself back up again. He made his way up and down the rows of Musketeers, following his mother's lead, though looking like he didn't quite know why he was there or what he was supposed to be doing. After having inspected the regiment sufficiently, led by Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan, Anne and the King made their way up to the balcony.

"Constance, Elodie, it really is lovely to see you both," Anne said with a smile and they all rose from their bows again. "This must be your family?"

"Yes, it is," Constance introduced her to them all, including the boys. As she said his name Samuel waved happily at the King, who looked a little taken aback by this. Anne nodded graciously at each family member as Constance went through them but then furrowed her brow in confusion when she'd finished.

"I thought you had three brothers?" she said.

"Ah," said Constance, looking to her mother for help. However she was still staring at Anne in awe. "Well, Lucas, he had to…. leave." D'Artagnan gave her a quizzical look but she just shook her head, as if to say _I'll tell you later._ Anne questioned her no further on the matter.

"Well, it really is a delight to meet you all," she said to Constance's family. "However you'll have to excuse me, I must speak with the Captain, and the General in private." After giving Elodie and Constance a gesture to follow them Anne led the way into d'Artagnan's office.

Aramis shut the door behind them and turned to d'Artagnan and Porthos, both of who were sat on d'Artagnan's desk while Constance settled herself in his chair, stretching out her legs. Elodie leaned on the arm rest next to her and watched happily as the King and Marie-Cessette sized each other up in the corner of the room.

"Good news first?" Aramis asked d'Artagnan and Porthos as he walked over to join Anne. Porthos narrowed his eyes.

"I don't like that suggestion," he said, suspiciously. "A statement like that almost always means that there is going to be bad news."

"You're as sharp as ever my friend," said Aramis, sarcastically.

"I've sent for Athos' return," said Anne. "I feel he's been away long enough now and after what happened at the ball I have decided that we all could use his experience."

"When will he be back?" d'Artagnan said, a huge smile spreading across his face.

"Soon," Aramis said, with a similar expression. "Of course it'll take him a little while, what with his new son." Porthos clapped his hands together and laughed.

"This is the best news I've had in a long time, apart from that I was coming home," he said, looking elated. "Athos is the only one who can keep up with me when we have a drink, no offence meant, d'Artagnan." D'Artagnan held up a hand of acceptance.

"None taken Porthos," he said. "It takes a lot to drink as much as you can and I'm not sure it makes Constance too happy when I try."

"I don't mind," Constance said, smirking. "I usually get a laugh out of it on the rare occasion that you stumble in in the early hours of the morning."

"So what's the bad news, Aramis?" Elodie asked. She'd been quiet for the whole of this conversation and Constance could tell she was dreading having to hear the news that Porthos might be sent back to the front now that his leg was pretty much healed.

"This actually only really concerns d'Artangan," Aramis said, hesitantly. Constance's heart fluttered at these words and she instantly reached out to take d'Artagnans hand and placed her free hand on her stomach. D'Artagnan sat up straighter and glanced quickly towards her before looking back at Aramis.

"Go on," he said.

Aramis removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair as he searched for the words.

"You remember the boy you sent to me to work at the palace? Moreau?" Aramis said. Constance stared at d'Artagnan looking for his reaction. She knew how much he'd worried for the boy when he had arrived in Paris looking for a Musketeer commission and how much he blamed himself when he went missing after the ball. He hadn't been discovered in the bodies and no one had seen him since.

"You've found him?" d'Artagnan asked, hopefully.

"Well…yes." Said Aramis, heavily. "He was shot dead by palace soldiers – he was found with a group of the men they were looking for over the attack. Turns out they were working for the new Duke of Lorraine who is currently being arrested. Moreau must have been working with them or convinced to join them. The group fought the soldiers instead of allowing themselves to be captured and… well, he was never a fighter, you know that. I'm sorry." He finished the announcement sadly and a substantial silence filled the room, disturbed only by the sounds of the King and Marie-Cessette playing on the other side of the office. D'Artagnan dropped his head into his hands and shook his head.

"I don't believe it," he said, stunned. "He was definitely one of them? He wasn't a prisoner?" Aramis shook his head.

"The soldiers watched them for a few days before attacking, they reported that he was definitely there voluntarily." Constance stood and rubbed d'Artagnan's shoulder, waiting for him to say something. Anne eventually broke the silence.

"We won't intrude any longer d'Artagan, Constance. I really am sorry you had to hear this, it must be shocking, but you couldn't have known." She embraced Constance before stepping back and taking both her hands and dropping her voice so only she could hear. "My doctors are ready to come to you at a moment's notice, just send a messenger when it's time." She quickly left and was followed out by everyone else except Constance and d'Artagnan, who was still sat in silence.

"d'Artagnan," she finally said, softly placing a hand to his cheek. "This isn't your fault." He shook his head as she spoke and bowed his head to the floor.

"How could I have not known?" he asked in a tortured voice. "Why did I not see it?"

"No one saw. Not even Aramis and Moreau was working for him for months."

"Yes, but it was me who sent him there," he said shortly. He stood and paced the office while Constance leaned against the desk and watched him helplessly. She didn't know how to comfort him. She knew how important it had been to him to help the boy he saw so much of himself in, and now he had turned out to be a traitor, shot dead in the French countryside for his crimes.

"Where was Lucas anyway?" d'Artagnan asked, obviously trying to change the subject to something less distressing, although this topic perhaps wasn't the best choice.

"I sent him away," Constance said, rubbing her temples, trying to force out the dull ache in her head that was forming. "He took issue with meeting the Queen. Apparently she isn't French enough." D'Atragnan closed his eyes in exasperation and rolled his head back before hitting his hand against the door frame in frustration, making Constance jump.

"I can't be around this anymore," he said, his voice shaking in anger. "It is a ridiculous frame of mind these people are and I'm sick of it. There is no logic to it yet it seems to be everywhere I turn. He can't come back to the garrison, and I'm going to ask him to leave the house."

"My house." Constance snapped at him. "And you can't just send him away, he's my brother! I'm going to talk some sense into him. Besides, you don't think I'm not sick of it too? I might not be fighting for her but she's still my friend and I've been caught up in as much of this as you have!" She was surprised to hear herself shouting now, angry tears prickling in her eyes.

"Constance, that's why I won't tolerate it anymore!" he yelled back. "Your own brother is contributing to a movement that has nearly cost you your life several times!"

"He doesn't know that! I'm going to speak with him, I'll bring him round." D'Artagnan rolled his eyes and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"No, I don't want him anywhere near you, the baby, or our home," he said, attempting to end the argument there. Constance scowled at him, ducked under his arms and walked away, her hands grabbing at her own hair.

"You don't tell me which members of my family I can talk to," she said, spinning round to face him.

"Constance, that's not-"

"I don't care!" she cried, throwing her arms wide. "This isn't even about you; this is my family and I'll deal with it!" d'Artagnan's mouth set into a grim line and he closed his eyes. He stood up silently, not even giving her a look, and walked over to the door, wrenching it open. He turned to her.

"Good to know where I stand in your _family,_ " he said, obviously hurt. He swept out the room and banged the door shut loudly.

Constance knew she had gone too far. Any reminder that his family was dead would always send him into a depressed state that he often didn't come out of for a while. She could feel the bile rising in her throat, disgusted at herself for using that against him in an argument – even if it was unintentional. Hot tears were rolling down her face as she ran to the window to see him mounting his horse and riding out of the yard before she could call him back to apologise. Constance slammed her hands on the window sill and cried out in frustration before slowly dissolving into sobs. She didn't know how long she cried for but it was only when she felt the most curious sensation that she stopped. There was a small popping feeling between her legs and suddenly, without warning, a warm wetness was spilling down her and pooling on the wooden floor. Constance gasped for breath, stunned, and clutched at the fabric over her stomach staring at the puddle that had appeared.

"d'Atragnan!" She shouted, knowing full well he couldn't hear her. The door swung open and Constance looked up to see her mother in the doorway.

"Mother," Constance whined. "Help me."


	8. Chapter 8

D'Artagnan sat in the tavern with his cup of wine in one hand and his head in the other. The small room was crowded, smoky, and smelt of drunkeness but all the jeering and shouting in the world from the other patrons couldn't distract him right now.

He felt sick. Why couldn't she understand that he'd said those things out of nothing but concern for her – for their child? As much as he didn't want to admit it, d'Artagnan knew that if something happened to the Queen, or even the King, on his watch he would survive. If he ever for some reason failed in his duty to protect them it would devastate him, but he would still have Constance. Without her though… he couldn't finish the thought. After all the times they'd risked their lives for each other, nearly lost one another, he thought she would understand. They'd faced too many obstacles for him to be okay with her carelessly endangering her life – even if the threat came from her own brother.

And then she'd brought up family. D'Artagnan knew that it was unintentional and that his reaction had been overblown but that didn't change the fact that the topic was not one to bring up in an argument. It wasn't her fault his whole family was dead and that hers were here in Paris. Apart from Lucas they were all very welcoming and warm towards him, yet he was still an outsider; the inside jokes and ease that came with knowing everything about one another wasn't there. D'Artagnan knew that he was lucky he had friends he could call brothers in Aramis, Porthos, and Athos and that they'd stand by him whatever, yet these past few weeks of being around Constance and her family had reminded him that there would always be something missing from his life, something that had been taken away from him. His father's image swam before him and d'Artagnan's throat tightened and his eyes stung as he was suddenly filled with the thought that his child would never meet him.

His mind moved to Constance now and the look on her face as he'd left; disbelief that he was walking out the door, mixed with pain and apology. He couldn't go back right away though. Part of it was cowardice, he didn't want to see her hurt expression, this time knowing that it was his fault. Instead he drained his cup and gestured to the serving girl to bring him another.

"No need for that," a familiar voice said from behind him. "I've got you sorted." Porthos fell into the chair next to him balancing three cups of wine, followed by Aramis who had removed his feathered hat in a bid to look less out of place in the tavern. It didn't work.

D'Artagnan took the drink, nodded his thanks, and drank half of it in two gulps. The others didn't join him, Aramis didn't even touch his cup, instead he studied d'Artagnan's face.

"Do you want to explain, or…?" he asked.

"Explain what, exactly?" d'Artagnan said, shortly. He couldn't see how a small argument between Constance and himself was any of their business.

"Well, when we went back down to the yard we heard shouting from your office," Porthos said, swirling the contents of his glass. "So we thought we'd better leave… and we did."

"Only as we were walking through the streets we had to jump out of the way of a madman thundering through Paris on a horse," Aramis added. "I don't think he even noticed that he nearly killed two of his best friends." He smirked at Porthos.

"Didn't take us long to track you down, mind," said Porthos, snorting. "If you really don't want to be found, d'Artagnan, I suggest staying away from the most popular tavern in this area of Paris." Aramis didn't join in with his laughter.

"d'Artagnan, you looked ready to kill someone," he said, concerned. "What happened?"

D'Artagnan played with his cup for a moment before sighing heavily and explaining Lucas' absence and the resulting argument. Both Aramis and Porthos listened raptly until he had finished, then Porthos slammed his hand on the table top.

"That little shit is one of them?" he growled. D'Artagnan nodded. Porthos looked furious.

"I've drank with that man in this very room," he said, disgusted. "And to think that he sympathises with the men who have tried to kill us!" Aramis placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Porthos," he said, calmly. "That's not what is important right now. So, that's what you were fighting about?" he added, turning to d'Artagnan.

"Yes. I don't want him around me, or her, or the baby," d'Artagnan said, fully aware of how stubborn he sounded. "Not after everything that's happened. She's nearly died on countless occasions over other people's grievances with the Queen and I won't let it happen again."

"What did she say to that?" asked Porthos. D'Artagnan raised his eyebrows and took another drink.

"You know Constance," he said, half smiling. "As you can probably guess she wasn't all too pleased about it. Anyway, after that things got… nasty." D'Artagnan rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, not happy about having to relay the tale. Porthos and Aramis exchanged wary looks and shifted in their seats.

"You don't mean…" Aramis started, hesitantly. He cleared his throat. "You don't mean it got, er… physical?" d'Artagnan looked at his friend, horrified. Aramis, seeing his reaction, looked relieved.

"How could you think-?" d'Artagnan said with his mouth gaping. "I would never-"

"We know," Porthos interrupted, laughing to break the tension. "If anything, d'Artagnan, she'd be the one to swing for you; we've all seen how good a slap she can give."

"And some of us have felt it, too," Aramis said, rubbing his jaw at the memory but smiling all the same.

The three of them laughed at that and moved on to happier conversation until all their cups were empty and one thought hung over them.

"You have to go back," Aramis said, quietly. D'Artagnan nodded.

"I know I do, I just wanted some time to cool down," he muttered. "Hopefully we can just forget about it – she doesn't need this stress right now." Porthos stood and clapped him on the shoulder and they left.

By the time they arrived back at the garrison their mood was considerably lighter. The three of them had been joking most of the way, the wine had begun to take effect, and as d'Artagnan dismounted he had a stich in his side from laughing. He passed his horse to a cadet and turned to see Phillipe striding towards him, looking murderous. D'Artagnan sighed, and gave a humorously exasperated look to Porthos and Aramis.

"I'm sure you heard what passed between Constance and I. No need to get angry, Phillipe," he said apologetically, holding his arms wide and tilting his head. "I will speak with Lucas the moment I see him." But Phillipe didn't stop, he didn't even slow down. Instead he came at d'Artagnan with fury in his eyes and landed a punch directly on his jaw. Stunned, d'Artagnan spun and hit the ground.

"Hey!" he heard Porthos yell. D'Artagnan pushed himself to his knees, massaging his jaw and groaning. Phillipe was still staring at him, enraged by something, and Benoit had joined him, hovering hesitantly by his elbow.

"Phillipe, please." Benoit said, looking thoroughly uncomfortable at the situation.

"How dare you," Phillipe spat, looking like he might hit him again. D'Artagnan heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn from behind him and held out his hand to Porthos to try and cool the situations.

"I won't apologise to him but I will try and-" d'Artagnan began.

"How dare you put Constance in that state and then leave!" Phillipe interrupted. D'Artagnan dropped his arms and straightened up, bemused.

"What are you…?" he mumbled, but before he could finish a pained cry floated into the yard from his and Constance's rooms making the hairs on his arms stand up and his throat turn dry. She cried out again and this time he felt that his heart was going to break. The others were still speaking but he couldn't hear them, instead he was tearing up the stairs to their rooms but before he could do it himself, the door opened and he had to skid to a stop to prevent himself from colliding into Constance's mother. She was stood with her hands on her hips, sleeves rolled up and sweat glistening on her face. D'Artagnan tried to move past her but she blocked his way.

"You're not to go in there," she said, bluntly, with her face steely. Constance gave a moan and he heard her sob. He wasn't going to wait outside while she was giving birth to their child, but before he could go in her mother put a hand on his chest.

"What on earth are-?" he began, becoming annoyed.

"She doesn't want you in there," she said. When she saw d'Artagnan's expression her face softened and she placed a hand to his face and lowered her voice to a kind whisper. "She's doing fine, d'Artagnan. The doctor is here and I am helping, she just doesn't want you there until it's done. Besides, this is a woman's work – husbands are never usually present. I'll call you straight up as soon as I can." She nodded sympathetically and patted his shoulders then turned back into the room, closing the door behind her, leaving him alone. He could hear Constance again. Every sound made his heart jump into his throat and his stomach clench with fear; so many women didn't make it, so many died. And even if Constance made it, the baby might not. Yet he was helpless. D'Artagnan leaned his forehead against the door, almost willing Constance to know he was there, yet no one came to call him in.

He didn't know how long he sat in the yard for, listening for any change in the noises he could hear from upstairs. The frustration at having to be idle was unbearable. He paced the yard countless times, Porthos tried to convince him to duel with him to pass the time, Aramis had brought wine, but nothing could take his mind away from imagining all the things that could go wrong. Phillipe had been sat waiting too, but without taking his eyes of d'Artagnan, furious with him for upsetting Constance then leaving her as she was going into labour. Benoit had explained to him that as soon as he'd left they'd all heard Constance shout and had run upstairs to find their mother helping her to the bedroom. He'd sent for the doctors and no one helping with Constance had come down into the yard since.

D'Artagnan fell on to the bench next to Aramis and ran his hands through his hair, maddened. Porthos poured him a drink but d'Artagnan left it untouched in front of him, too on edge for wine.

"D'Artagnan," said Aramis, in a voice obviously meant to calm him. "There's nothing any of us can do other than wait."

"You don't think I'm aware of that?" d'Artagnan snapped. "All I've been doing for hours is waiting, and listening. It's driving me senseless."

"Look," Porthos said, leaning across the table. "Constance is a strong girl, she'll be okay, I'm sure of it." But as soon as he said this they heard a particularly pained cry that caused everyone in the yard to look up, except d'Artagnan who simply put his head on the table.

"d'Artagnan, come on," Aramis said, trying a different tactic. "I can guarantee that this is a lot harder for Constance than it is for you. She doesn't need you to turn into a mess right now." D'Artagnan was about to retort when Constance's cry suddenly shifted into something much more akin to a scream. He lurched to his feet, his heart thundering in his ears, and before anyone could stop him he was bolting up the stairs. Constance was screaming words that he couldn't catch, but mixed in there he heard his own name, over and over again. D'Artagnan slammed his shoulder against the door, not even waiting to knock, and it swung inwards, letting him fly into the room. His eyes immediately found her face.

Constance looked exhausted. She was sat in their bed, hunched over with her face was flushed, her hair clinging to her, drenched with sweat, yet when her eyes found his she looked relieved.

"I'm sorry," she said in between breaths, looking like she was about to cry. "I shouldn't have said what I did." D'artagnan shook his head lost for words at her apologising after what he'd done. He went to her and kissed her hair before sitting next to her and supporting her with his arms.

"It's my fault," he said softly, pulling her hair away from her face and rubbing her back. "We can forget it happened." Constance nodded, not able to properly form words through her rapid breathing. She gripped d'Artagnan's hand hard enough to make him a little uncomfortable but he decided that in the present circumstances he wouldn't get much sympathy, so stayed quiet and let her continue. D'Artagnan hadn't even noticed the other people in the room until now. Constance's mother was watching from the corner, a disapproving look on her face when she made eye contact with him, but she quickly looked back to her daughter, stress replacing it. Next to her was a woman he'd never seen before who'd obviously been sent by Anne to assist the doctor. He was an older man, dressed smartly and was fussing at the end of the bed. Constance began moaning again, causing the doctor to throw the sheets that were covering Constance's legs over his head. After a few seconds Constance collapsed back on to his chest, drained and with tears in her eyes. D'Artagnan tried his best to comfort her by muttering soothing words and stroking her arm but she was so tired she didn't seem to notice.

"Do you know how much longer it will be?" he asked the doctor. He looked at d'Artagnan unconcerned and shrugged.

"Soon," he said simply, taking a towel from the woman in the corner and wiping his brow. The short answer caused irritation to flare within d'Artagnan as Constance let out another little sob, still led in his arms.

"Is she going to be all right?" asked d'Artagnan, his annoyance colouring his voice. All he got in return from the doctor was a sigh and a frustrated expression that told him he didn't know. Immediately dread flooded him and he looked to Constance's mother, wide eyed. Seeing his distress she ran over and placed a hand on his cheek.

"D'Artagnan listen to me," she spoke softly but her voice broke and betrayed her a little. "This is never easy but you can't fall apart now, she needs you." Constance was crying again and reaching out for her mother while the doctor did his work. D'Artagnan's head was still reeling and all he could do was hold Constance when she relaxed back against him.

"I can't lose her, Sabine," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do, I-" Constance's mother took his hand and sat her face in a firm expression.

"We won't have to," she said, with a fire in her bright blue eyes that d'Artagnan recognised. He nodded.

The following hours were the most stressful of d'Artagnan's life. Every second he expected something to go wrong, for the doctor to tell him it was over or for Constance fall limp in his arms. More than anything he just wished it to be finished. Night had fallen and ever cry or scream that came from Constance was like a knife being twisted in his stomach; it was unbearable to hear her in so much pain, but finally it did end and someone else's screaming was filling the room now – high pitched and extremely loud. Constance was quiet and still but alive, breathing deeply and holding d'Artagnan's hand but looking desperately at the doctor who was wrapping a wriggling bundle in a blanket.

D'Artagnan tried to speak, to ask if their baby was okay, but no sound came out. Instead he helped Constance to sit up straighter and watched as she reached out to take him, or her, from the doctor. She held the baby gingerly at first but quickly settled against d'Artagnan's chest and pulled the fabric back to better see the tiny red face. The sight took his breath away.

"Hello, my darling," Constance breathed, rocking her arms gently. She looked up to d'Artagnan and beamed, her eyes tired but her face alight. He had never been more amazed by her as he was in that moment. He kissed her forehead and reached out hesitantly to brush his thumb across their baby's face, speechless.

"You have a daughter, by the way." They both looked up to see the doctor smiling at them. He too looked exhausted. Behind him Constance's mother had her hands to her mouth and tears in her eyes, looking like she could burst with happiness.

"A girl?" d'Artagnan said. He was surprised by just how happy those words made him.

"A girl," the doctor confirmed. He bowed his head and excused himself from the room to give them privacy, followed by his assistant. The second the door closed behind them Constance began to cry and let out a little laugh, smiling down at their daughter. Constance's mother approached hesitantly, staring at her wide eyed. Her eyes met d'Artagnan's and she pulled him into a relived hug and he felt some of the tension leave him; they were both okay.

After Sabine had seen the baby to her fill and helped the doctors assistant to clean the room up she left to tell anyone still left in the yard the news. Constance sighed happily, wiggling a finger at their daughter, trying to catch her attention, but if anything she just seemed to be falling asleep, warm in the blankets and cradled in Constance's arms where she'd been for the past half an hour. Other than to ask her how she was feeling ("Tired," she'd said) d'Artagnan hadn't said a word. He'd just gazed adoringly at the baby from where he was sat at the end of the bed, completely amazed that she was here and real.

Constance reached out and laid a hand on his cheek. Her face was pink with exhaustion and her eyes heavy but the smile on her face was one of complete contentment. D'Artagnan took her hand and kissed her palm.

"Would you like to hold her?" Constance asked, grinning at herself speaking the words. D'Artagnan nodded and reached out, not quite sure what to do, all his brain was supplying was _support the head._ After that he had no knowledge what to do with a baby. Constance seemed just as lost, struggling to both sit herself up and pass the baby over at the same time. They both laughed at their incompetence but eventually they managed it. Constance collapsed against the cushions with a sigh and watched him with a smile playing round the corners of her mouth. D'Artagnan looked down at the baby in his arms and an immense pride filled him, both at Constance and at their daughter, who was already the most amazing person in the whole world to him.

"Hello," he murmured, his thumb stroking her nose gently as he rocked her. Her tiny little mouth opened into a perfect O as she yawned, soothed by the rocking. Her eyelids seemed too heavy for her and they closed slowly over her bright brown eyes.

"She has my eyes," he said quietly. Constance raiser her eye brows and smirked.

"Were you expecting someone else's?" she asked, teasingly.

"You know what I mean," he said, smirking. "I always thought she'd have yours, they're just so…" Constance smiled and looked down at the tiny face hidden in the blankets.

"Maybe she'll have my hair," she said. Constance beamed and pulled herself up to hug him, careful not to wake the baby. D'Artagnan kissed her gently then pulled away.

"Get back in bed, you must be exhausted," he said. She laughed but led back down all the same and was smoothing the sheets over herself when there was a knock at the door.

"Your brothers?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Maybe, but I didn't think they'd stay this late," she said, just as confused as to who could be at the door as he was. By now it was the early hours of the morning. D'Artagnan stood and slowly passed the baby to Constance and crossed to the door. He opened it a just a crack to peer out and when he saw who it was he laughed.

"We're to see the new mother and congratulate her," Aramis said, good-naturedly. "If she will see us of course."

"Not you though, you didn't really do anything," Porthos added to d'Artagnan, laughing.

"Is that who I think it is?" Constance asked.

"It is," d'Artagnan said, shutting the door on his friends. "I'll send them away, don't worry." Constance shook her head.

"Let them in, its fine." d'Artagnan shrugged and pulled the door open and waved them in.

"Well, I've had better welcomes," Porthos said, eyeing d'Artagnan as he and Aramis entered, then his eyes went to Constance and he smiled warmly. Both he and Aramis kissed her cheek and congratulated her and remained to fuss over the baby for a while but then took their leave shortly after, but before he and Constance could relax Benoit was knocking at the door too. He held the baby like an expert, obviously having been round Samuel and Richard since they were born, and cooed at her adoringly. D'Artagnan was secretly quite glad Phillipe wasn't there; according to Benoit he'd stayed at the garrison long enough for Sabine to tell him Constance had had the baby and was fine and then left.

"What about Lucas?" Constance had asked, her eyebrows knitting together with concern. Benoit had simply shrugged.

"I couldn't tell you," he'd said, unconcerned. "But you know how he is, he'll get over it."

"He should be more concerned with whether I'll get over it or not," Constance growled, starting to get irritated. Luckily Benoit left before she could get too worked up and she quite quickly fell asleep. D'Artagnan left the room to stand on the balcony, still holding their little girl, wrapped in the blankets and sleeping soundly like her mother. He couldn't stop staring at her, eager to spot bits of Constance or of himself or his father in her tiny features. A sudden sadness swooped through him at the thought of his father and he swallowed against the lump in his throat that had formed and looked up at the stars.

The baby moved in his arms and he looked down to see her hand had appeared through the fabric, opening and closing, trying to grab onto something. D'Artagnan gave her his finger and she gripped it tightly as he chuckled.

When he went back in Constance was awake again, smiling as he passed over the baby to her and sat down on the bed.

"I thought you were sleeping?" he said, warmly.

"I was," she said, not taking her eyes off the baby she was now bouncing gently. "But I just… I don't know, I just wanted to see her again." She laughed at herself, as though she couldn't believe what she was saying.

"We need a name for her," she said, looking up at him.

"We do, any ideas?"

Constance tilted her head and chewed on her lip like she always did when she was thinking.

"Well, your mother's name was-" she began.

"Françoise," d'Artagnan interrupted, shaking his head. "But I don't think it'd suit her very much, it is too…" he trailed off at the end, not sure how to phrase it but he needn't bother as Constance was nodding.

"I know what you mean," she said, scrunching her nose up. "But I think it should be in there somewhere, maybe as a middle name, just to have something of your mother with her." D'Artagnan didn't answer right away. His mother had died when he was very young and he had very few memories of her. However, the memories he did have were happy ones and he knew that to carry on her memory would have made his father proud.

"Okay, but what about your mother?" d'Artagnan asked. Constance snorted.

"I love my mother but I'm not calling our daughter Sabine, as nice a name as it is. It would feel odd," she said. "But, I was thinking about her middle name, I've always liked it… Joséphine." She looked at d'Artagnan with her eyes wide waiting for his reaction and it became clear to him that she'd had this in her mind for a long time.

"Joséphine Françoise d'Artagnan," he said slowly, testing the way the name sounded while looking at their daughter. He grinned. "It's perfect."


	9. Chapter 9

A vibrant stream of sunlight burst through the high windows of the church as the clouds parted, illuminating the gold that was guiding the altar, momentarily drawing Constance's gaze away from the three-week-old baby in her arms, but not for long. She looked back at her daughter and smiled at her, all the while listening to the priest performing the christening in front of her. He was a small man, she had noted, with a closely cropped white beard and milky blue eyes. He was extremely old yet a kindness still radiated through him as he spoke.

She was sat in the front row of a church much grander than the one in which she had married d'Artagnan, with her family and friends surrounding her. Even Queen Anne had managed to attend, though she sat in the balcony, surrounded by musketeers and with a veil covering her face so as not to steal the limelight too much. Constance's mother and brothers and Alice sat to her and d'Artagnan's left and Aramis, Porthos and Elodie to their right, ready to take their place as godparents.

D'Artagnan placed a hand on the small of her back and leaned close to watch Joséphine's wide, brown eyes staring back up at them, taking in sights and noises different from those of the garrison for the very first time. However, she didn't seem too pleased about it.

"Oh, no," d'Artagnan whispered, glancing up nervously at the priest who was still speaking. "She's making that face."

"That _I'm about to start crying_ face," agreed Constance, but before Joséphine could disrupt her own christening, Constance placed the tip of her little finger in her mouth to pacify her. "There," she said, with a satisfied grin. "I'll feed her when he's finished." She nodded up to the priest and settled back against d'Artagnan's shoulder to listen. d'Artagnan, however, wasn't concerned with what the priest had to say.

"How are you feeling?" he asked under his breath, looking concerned. "Today is the first day you've properly left the garrison, it isn't too much?" Constance rolled her eyes.

"I'm perfectly fine," she muttered, without taking her eyes off the priest. "And I'm trying to listen to the word of God."

D'Artagnan smirked. "I'm just checking, and I'm pretty sure he can't hear us." His voice quickly lost the humour that had been there seconds before, and switched back to worry. "Be honest with me though, how do you feel? Are you okay?" Constance smiled but coloured her voice with mock anger when she spoke.

"d'Artagnan, I love you," she said, "But if you pester me about my well-being again during this service I swear I will stand up in front of the congregation, the priest, and God himself and declare that Joséphine's father is actually Aramis." D'Artagnan laughed but quickly disguised it as a cough.

"Well," he said, "We both have first hand knowledge that claims of illegitimate children against Aramis don't tend to stick, so I think I'll be fine."

"You two are aware," Aramis muttered from beside them, still watching the service attentively, "That you aren't whispering anywhere near as quietly as you think you are."

The priest talked on for another twenty minutes or so before it was time for them to stand. Constance led the way up to the alter, with d'Artagnan hovering close beside her, and passed Joséphine over to the priest, trying her best to make sure she didn't squirm too much.

Constance's mother cried, d'Artagnan laughed when Joséphine managed to somehow kick holy water over Porthos, and Aramis looked as serious as she'd ever seen him when he took his vows as a godfather. Overall the part of the service they had to actively participate in passed quite smoothly considering the hungry baby, but even so, Constance was relieved when they left the church and headed to the tavern for the celebration that followed.

Constance settled herself in a quiet corner of the room with her mother and Alice and began to feed Joséphine; an odd sensation and something she was still getting used to. D'Artagnan was at the bar with Porthos and Aramis - who were both slapping him on the shoulder, congratulating him - and Elodie, ordering drinks. Constance didn't think she'd ever seen him as happy as she had these past few weeks. Although he was always concerned about her recovery, any time he set eyes on their little girl his face lit up and nothing could dampen his mood. Constance's mother followed her line of sight and smiled.

"So," she said, conversationally. "Have you thought about where you and d'Artagnan are going to go?" Alice looked towards her expectantly, as though she too was interested. Constance herself wasn't altogether sure what her mother was talking about.

"Er… like on a holiday?" Constance quipped. "We have only just had a baby, mother, give us some time." She laughed and pulled her dress back up, placed Joséphine on her shoulder, and patted her back to wind her.

"No, Constance, that's not what I mean." Sabine furrowed her eyebrows, obviously judging Constance's technique with the baby.

"Well, what do you mean?" Constance asked, marginally irritated now. Her mother sighed and looked disapprovingly at her at her tone.

"When will you be finding another place to live?" she said, in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Oh," Constance said, lost for words at the question and raising her eyebrows. "Well… I don't think we… It's not really been…"

"Oh, don't be silly, Constance," her mother laughed, condescendingly. "You can't raise a child at a military garrison – especially not a little girl." She tittered at her and reached out to take the baby. Constance didn't pass her over. Instead she narrowed her eyes and looked hurt at her mother's words.

"Well, why on earth not?" she said, abruptly. Sabine's expression dropped to one of surprise, as if the idea of living at the garrison with a baby would be absurd to anyone. Alice surreptitiously sipped her drink to avoid being drawn into the conversation. Sabine reached forward to take Constance's hand.

"Darling, you can't be serious?" she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. "It isn't safe for a baby, especially when she starts walking. All it would take would be for one careless swing of a sword or a wayward gunshot while she's running around the yard and then…well, I don't think I need to go into details. But you must also consider that the place is a target. You almost died when someone tried to blow it up two years ago! How can you know something like that won't happen again?"

Constance's indignation at her mother's words melted away as she spoke and she became more in tuned to the weight on her shoulder, the little heartbeat she could feel, and the breathing that was so quietly whispering past her ear. She moved Joséphine to cradle her in her arms and looked down at the tired face. She was struggling to keep her eyes open, completely unaware of the dangers that were being discussed.

"I'll speak with d'Artagnan," Constance said with a resigned sigh. She was right. Despite it being their home it was far too dangerous. However, before they could move on to a different topic the attention of the whole tavern was drawn to Porthos, who had just stood on a table, drink in hand and sword drawn.

"Good God, what is he-?" Alice began, but Constance burst into laughter and cut her off.

"Alright!" Porthos boomed in his warm, powerful voice. Everyone fell silent except Elodie, who, like Constance, was struggling to stifle her laughter. Porthos swayed slightly on the table top and Aramis stepped forward with his hand outstretched, though if it came to catching Porthos, Constance knew he wouldn't fare very well. Porthos quickly regained his balance and straightened up, raising his sword higher and clearing his throat.

"I would like," he said, sombrely. "To propose a toast." He pointed his sword at d'Artagnan's chest, who was leaning against the bar with a bemused, yet entertained, expression.

"To Captain d'Artagnan," he continued, then pointed the sword at her. "And Constance d'Artagnan. After all you two have been though, I, like everyone else here, am happy to see you finally get the blessing you deserve. Congratu-"

But before Porthos could finish the door of the tavern swung open with a crash that caused those nearest to it to jump.

"Hey!" Porthos shouted, spinning around precariously on the table top, still brandishing his sword. "Can't you see I'm making a speech?"

Porthos dropped his sword. There, in the doorway, stood a familiar man. His hat was pulled low and his cloak was draped around his body, hiding most of him. However, there was no denying that stance, the way he stepped into the bar, or the woman that followed him in.

"I apologise for my late arrival," Athos said, as he removed his hat. "We only arrived in Paris a few hours ago." He walked straight to d'Artagnan and took his hand, shaking it. "Congratulations, my friend. Where is Constance?"

D'Artagnan pulled his friend into a hug. When he stepped back he nodded to the corner where Constance was seated.

"Constance," Athos said as he came over. "I'm so happy for the both of you. Is this her?"

"Joséphine Françoise d'Artagnan," Constance said as she positioned her daughter so that Athos could see her. "It still feels odd to say her name, even now."

"Believe me, I know what you mean," Athos said, looking over his shoulder to Sylvie, who was joining them, her own child in her arms. "This is Isaac Adrien, my son."

The child on Sylvie's hip was a perfect mixture of both his parents. He had Sylvie's endlessly deep brown eyes, that were now fixed curiously on Constance, and she could already tell his face would greatly resemble Athos's when he grew older. Constance grinned up at him and Isaac's face split into a smile as he let out a bell-like laugh.

The celebration lasted a few hours longer, it was only when dusk began to roll into the city that their friends and family began to leave. Constance's family drifted off to the house and various other guests melted away as the afternoon turned into evening. Eventually only Porthos, Elodie, Aramis, Athos, Sylvie, d'Artagnan, and Constance remained, all of them crowded around the one table. Joséphine had fallen asleep in d'Artagnan's arms and Elodie was rocking a sleepy Isaac as Sylvie smiled on.

"I'm guessing that you two are back in Paris permanently then?" Aramis said, as he took a drink.

"We hope to be," said Athos, carefully. "The Queen summoned me back to Paris; where I go is up to her."

"Well, if that's the case, I have insider knowledge – you aren't going anywhere," Aramis said with a sly wink. A ripple of laughter ran around the table but it was quickly shushed by d'Artagnan who had his eyes on the sleeping baby in his arms.

"You were called back after what happened at the Louvre," Constance said. "So, I don't see why you'd be sent away from Paris."

Sylvie frowned at her.

"What happened at the Louvre?" she asked as Athos took a swig from his cup.

Constance raised her eyebrows, surprised.

"You didn't hear?"

Sylvie shook her head.

"There was an attack," Constance said, utterly bewildered at her friend. "Around fifty people died! Aramis was nearly one of them."

Athos gagged on his wine.

"An a-attack?" he spluttered. "When? By whom? Why weren't we told?" He looked wildly at everyone, waiting for someone to give him an answer. Porthos cleared his throat and spoke.

"Christmas. It hit us out of nowhere. They were working for the new Duke of Lorraine but we're pretty sure we got them all," Porthos shrugged and looked apologetically at Athos. "To be honest with you, hardly anyone knows. People at the Palace worked hard to keep it quiet within the nobility and the only people who were there and who frequent places like this-" he gestured to the empty tavern around them "-were us and other musketeers, and they aren't likely to go shouting their mouths off about it. It was decided that if something like that got out, that there was an attack on the Louvre and very nearly on the King himself, by citizens of France, it would be catastrophic for the moral of our troops at the front and could only help the Spanish. We didn't tell you because we couldn't put it in a letter that could be easily intercepted and we couldn't spare a messenger when there wasn't anything you could do."

Constance listened with her mouth open. She had had no idea that the attack had been so effectively covered up, but the more she thought about it, the more their reasoning made sense. Her eyes flicked to Athos to gauge his reaction but it appeared he hadn't even listened to the later part of Porthos's speech; his gaze was fixed intently on Aramis. Aramis stared into his cup as he swirled the dregs of his wine.

"They nearly got the King?" Athos asked, his voice heavy with feeling as he looked at his best friend. Aramis didn't look up, he just continued to avert his eyes from everyone, though Constance saw him swallow against the emotions returning to him as he thought about that night. Eventually he gave a sharp nod. Athos looked towards his son, who had climbed back into Sylvie's lap, and then back at Aramis. The two shared an understanding look.

"But you stopped them," said Athos, as though it settled the matter.

As quickly as he had gone into the vein of contemplation, Aramis was back out of it.

"I would have done if I hadn't been shot," he said with a laugh. "Porthos and d'Artagnan got the only one who got anywhere near Anne and the King."

"Well done," said Athos with a smile, raising his glass slightly toward them as a toast.

"We can't take all the credit," said d'Artagnan. "Constance gave him a pretty nasty blow with a poker. It was impressive." The group laughed at this, causing Joséphine to stir and start wailing.

Back at the garrison, Constance rolled her neck to ease the knots that had formed in her shoulders from carrying Joséphine all day. She was now sleeping soundly in her crib and Constance was stood by the window in their bedroom, staring out at the dark city. Warm hands started to rub her shoulders and she leant back into d'Artagnan's chest as he gently worked the tension from her neck.

"Good?" he asked.

"Very," Constance sighed. She turned to wrap her arms around his waist and placed a kiss below his jaw. "She's asleep." She added, jerking her head towards the crib.

"For how long though?" quipped d'Artagnan with a dark smile. He took Constance's wrists and gently led her to their bed. She went gladly; the day had been a long one and she could think of nothing better than falling asleep in his arms. They laid down facing each other and d'Artagnan's eyes flickered shut immediately. Constance studied his face for a while, taking in the tanned skin, the long lashes, and the dark hair that was falling messily across his face. She reached out and gently pushed a lock back and she heard a hum of pleasure emit from deep in his chest and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. Constance smiled and pressed a light kiss to his lips, which was eagerly reciprocated. She let out a low laugh as she pulled back and let the arms the now enveloped her pull her down so she was resting her head on his shoulder and her arm was draped over his chest. Constance sighed, content, but then a thought came back to her and her eyebrows constricted.

"We have to leave the garrison," she said, bracing herself. Constance expected confusion, argument, even anger at such a suggestion, but instead d'Artagnan spoke with resignation in his voice.

"I was waiting for you to bring that up," he said.

Constance frowned. She pushed herself up onto her elbows so she could see him better. His face was passive, as though he knew exactly how the conversation would end.

"Have you been speaking to my mother?" Constance asked, suspiciously.

D'Artagnan raised his eyebrows.

"Should I have?"

"No, but she suggested it to me today."

He shrugged and shifted himself into a more comfortable position, with his shoulders resting against the headboard.

"I don't want to leave," he said dejectedly. "This is where the most important part of my life started. Without the garrison I wouldn't have met you, or the others – we wouldn't have Joséphine. I knew we would have to more somewhere else at some point, it isn't practical or safe to raise a child here, anything could happen. But… well, I guess I didn't want to initiate it. If we talked about it, it would make it real – we would actually have to leave. I think by waiting for you to bring this up I was just trying to buy myself more time here. I was being selfish, but this is my home."

Constance placed a hand on his cheek and stroked her thumb across his cheek bone.

"I don't want to leave either," she said. "The garrison was like my safety net. Whenever I had a problem I could come to the Musketeers and they would try to help. And then you came to Paris. You might have lived at my house but this is where you spent your time. For me, the garrison _is_ you. It is the beginning of us and I was safe from Bonacieux, from Milady – before she saved our lives – and from anyone else who wished us harm when I was here. Joséphine was born here, in this very room, and I don't want to say goodbye to that." Constance let her hand drop to his chest and shook her head gently. "But I almost died here. Others did die. My mother is right; the garrison is a target and always will be. We can't live here with our daughter."

They stared sadly at each other as they both came to the realisation that they had outgrown their garrison, a place that was so much more to them than just a base for the regiment.

"We don't have to go far," Constance added with a grin, trying to lighten the mood slightly. "Just enough to put some distance between our baby and the guns and swords."

D'Artagnan's eyes had been full of emotion at her words, but he still laughed along with her and pulled her close to him again.

"We'll start looking tomorrow," he said, his fingers combing through a section of her hair. "There's always your old house? It looks quite nice now that you've-"

But Constance cut him off.

"No."

"Sorry?"

"I can't live there again," she said firmly. "I have no issue with renting it out to paying guests but I can't live there, I won't do it."

D'Artagnan nodded understandingly and let it drop.

"As long as you're happy, I'll live anywhere," he said, humour colouring his voice. Constance smiled to herself and they drifted off together, sleeping soundly, only to be awoken an hour later by a crying baby, who was hungry and didn't care who knew it.

 _ **AN: I'd just like to say a huge thank you to everyone that has followed/favourited/reviewed this story. This has been my first go at writing and I've loved it. This won't be my last Musketeers story so keep an eye out for my next update. I hope you've all enjoyed it!**_


End file.
